


Crossed Wires

by virtualpersonal



Category: Alias (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Action, Adventure, Conflict, Dean has a Fear of Flying, F/M, Fusion, Het, Hot Sex, Humor, Hunter Dean, M/F, Romance, Sexy Times, Spies, Steamy, Supernatural - Freeform, alias - Freeform, bit of angst, dont have to know both fandoms, one upmanship, spy sydney, xover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-16
Updated: 2015-01-19
Packaged: 2018-03-07 20:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 51,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3181868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtualpersonal/pseuds/virtualpersonal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean goes back to hunting and searches for a way to get Sam out of Lucifer’s cage. He’s close, so damned close to an answer. If only a certain sexy red head... make that a blonde... or is it a brunette, would quit popping up and interfering with his schemes. CIA Agent Sydney Bristow is on a mission, and no irritating, too-charming-for- his-own-good, backwoods hunter, is gonna slow her down. The race, to find the holy spear of Longinus, is on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> co-written with Catscorner
> 
> This takes place after the SPN Season 5 finale and goes AU-ish. It also takes place during season 1 of Alias. Interestingly, per [Wikipedia](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jo_Harvelle), Kripke felt a character like Sydney Bristow would make a good match for Dean.

Prologue

[2 months after Sam jumped into the cage with Lucifer]

 

Dean pulled the car cover off the impala, and slowly rolled it up. There was a lump in his throat about the size of Texas, but he told himself the worst part was over. It had been hard, but he'd said his good byes to Lisa and Ben. The looks in their eyes, sadness, disappointment, he'd carry it with him for the rest of his life. 

It was his fault of course. He was a fuck up. He'd wanted a home, a family, and Sam had made him promise to go make that dream come true. And he'd tried. God, he'd tried. 

He'd wanted to be the man in Lisa's life, a father to her son. He'd gotten normal jobs, cooked breakfast for his family, dropped Ben off at soccer games and gone to neighborhood barbecues. These were all the things he'd secretly craved all his life, or maybe it hadn’t really been a secret since Sam had figured it out. But now that he'd had gotten a taste of that life he’d wanted so badly, it just... he couldn't enjoy it. 

Maybe it was because a part of him had died with Sam. Or it was guilt. He couldn't sit here and live the good life while his brother burned, day in and day out, in the cage. Or it was the knowledge that despite what Lisa said, he was making her life and Ben's, more difficult. He was drinking hard, and, to his shame, Ben had seen him stumbling around more than once. What kind of role model was that for a kid? And lately, he'd been lying to Lisa, telling her he wasn't drinking when he carried good old Johnny with him everywhere he went, and telling her he wasn't hunting when the only thing on his mind most of the time was finding ways to get his brother back. And if not back, then out of that pit with Lucifer. Anything had to be better than that. Anything.

Opening the trunk, he took a quick look at the weapons in the secret compartment. Everything was just as he'd left it. Taking a breath, he turned around and grabbed his duffel bags and tossed them into the trunk. A small smile pulled at his lips when he saw the paper bag. She'd made him sandwiches or something. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he closed the trunk and punched the button on the wall to open the garage door. 

As he headed for the driver's door, he ran a hand over the cool shiny surface of the Impala and wrestled with bittersweet thoughts. As much as a part of him wanted to fit into Lisa and Ben's lives, a stronger part, the part that had been honed, trained and brought up to believe there was only one future for him, the part that was ingrained with a hunter's need to rid the world of evil, and to save lives, won out. And when the life he had to save was that of his brother’s... yeah, he had been an idiot to think he could just settle down and live out an impossible dream.

Dean started up the car and warmed up the engine for a few moments, then backed out of the garage. His gaze automatically went to the living room window. Through the sheer curtains, he saw both of them standing there. He raised his hand to acknowledge them, and then hit the gas, turning the car while he was still in reverse and shifting to drive. By the time he took another breath, he couldn't see the house in the rear view mirror. 

They were better off without him, he told himself. He was going to be neck deep in hunting, doing whatever it took... _whatever it took_... to get his brother back. He couldn't expose either of them to that side of himself, or to the danger his life and the things he did might bring them. They thought they were prepared for it, that they knew what it meant to be a hunter, but they didn't. And he wasn't gonna fuck up again by letting them into that part of his world. 

He wished he hadn't hurt them. He told himself it was only a couple of months that he’d been with them, that they'd get over him. That this had been more about the things they all wished they had, a stable family, the American dream, but it hadn't been real, and wishes couldn't make it real. Didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. Yeah, if he could erase his existence from their minds, he would. 

Pressing his lips into a determined line, he reached for the tape deck and popped a cassette in. Then he cranked up the music, letting it and the road drive all other thoughts out of his troubled mind.

 

Chapter 1

[9 Months Later]

Walking across the campus greens, Dean couldn't help thinking back a few years. Almost six years, God, had it been that long? Back then, he'd parked outside Sam's apartment at Stanford, sneaked inside and forced his brother to get back to the life of hunting. Once, Dean had thought he was responsible for dragging Sam off his chosen career path. Sometimes, he’d been downright happy about it, mostly cause he had his brother back, his family was back to doing what it was supposed to do. Kicking demon ass and hunting things. Other times, he blamed himself for having thwarted Sam from living the life he’d wanted for himself.

In the end, Dean had given himself too much credit. This, their lives, their paths, it turned out that other sons of bitches were manipulating them the whole time. Grooming Sam, taking steps to make sure he not only went back on the road, but stayed there. Making sure he honed his skills, making sure Dean did the same, prepared for the final battle. So the final battle hadn't actually been fought. So they'd thrown a wrench into it and stopped a full on Apocalypse. Had 'team free-will' really won a damned thing? Dean wasn't so sure.

Seeing the History Building on the large UCLA campus, he broke away from thoughts of the past. The long halls were quiet. Some of the classroom doors were open and he could see the students at their desks taking notes. He went all the way to the auditorium-style lecture hall and slipped inside. 

It was crowded. He heard a few complaints directed at him about getting there late and, ignoring them, brushed past people as he made his way to an open seat, and sat down. He wanted to get a beat on this Professor Pasquali before he either went rummaging through the man’s stuff or talked to him, or both. The man was an authority in international law, and more specifically, German occupation and the occultism of the Nazi party. His name came up in every search Dean had performed in his efforts to find out everything there was to know about the Spear of Longinus. There were so many stories, and so many claims that the real thing was housed at various churches, museums and in private collections, it made Dean's head spin. 

Sitting back, he listened to the professor's lecture, which had nothing to do with what Dean was interested in. He did seem to know his stuff though, and that was important. As the middle aged man droned on, Dean's gaze moved across the aisles of students furiously taking notes. A few 'fresh faced and bushy tailed' comments were at the tip of his tongue, and it was too bad he didn't have anyone to share them with. Then he noticed a woman with reddish brown hair. 

He could only see her from the side, but noticed she was taking in everything the professor said without writing any of it down. Her tight tee shirt and jeans were plain, but nothing else about her could be called plain. Neither the sever ponytail, nor the glasses, could disguise how good she looked. Actually, he even liked the glasses. He could easily imagine her as the hot librarian in a porn flick...

Several bumps of knees against his broke Dean out of the damned good day dream to find that class was over and people were trying to get past him. Making a face, he got up, mentally vowing that the next time a backpack hit him, he’d cram it down its owner’s mouth.

Still, that didn't stop him from leaning to the side as hot librarian chick walked by, swinging her hips and completely oblivious of his interest. Damn, he had to be losing his touch.

* * *

It was night, a little past ten. Dean was surprised by the amount of activity on the college campus at this time of the night. Hoping Professor Pasquali wasn’t overly committed to work, he knocked firmly on the door to his office. When the knock went unanswered, Dean pulled out his tools and quickly broke in. Closing the door behind him, he turned on the lights. 

It was a pretty big office, which was probably a reflection of the professor's status or something. There was wall to wall shelving and every inch of space on the shelves, the desk and the other furniture, was covered by papers and files and books. Great. Just friggin great.

Dean scanned the books, and then started to get down to business. Dropping down to his knees, he tried to open the large file drawer of the desk and ended up having to pick the lock. This was a good sign, seeing as what he needed would probably be locked up. He'd want to take a look at the computer too, at least the hard drive. He might be able to leave the computer open to hacking from another location, that way he wouldn’t need to spend too much time looking at it here.

*

A short distance away, Sydney rounded the corner into Dwinelle Hall, shouldering her messenger bag as if it were just heavy with text books and not all the tech Marshall had set her up with for the assignment. The soft footfalls of her sneakers echoed off the walls of the mostly empty corridor, but as she neared the professor's office, she saw a shadow play across the slats in the air vent over the door, signaling movement inside. She was ready for anything, but the most likely scenario was that Dr. Pasquali was simply working late, so she did a quick mental adjustment and prepared to talk her way into getting what she needed. A knuckled rap on the door preceded her turning the handle to poke her head inside.

"Dr. Pas-?" she stopped short on seeing a guy jerking around as if he'd been startled. She'd seen him earlier that day arriving late to the lecture hall, but she quickly blinked away any hint of recognition that might have shown her eyes. "Uh... excuse me?" She opened the door wider and stepped inside to make sure there wasn't anybody else in the office. Although she was instinctively on alert, Sydney's eyes were wide and she donned a convincing air of confusion. "I was looking for Dr. Pasquali. And you're not him." 

Hot librarian chick... oh man, times like this, Dean wished he was a boring professor, or in his case, a not so boring one. Getting up, he used his knee to shut the drawer. "Sorry, he's not in but he'll be in bright and early tomorrow." He gave her a nod of dismissal, having had much practice from the time he'd had to act like a high school coach. "It's late, you should probably get some sleep, or go on a date, or something."

Her eyes flicked down, toward the filing cabinet he'd shut, and she made a mental note of the label on the drawer, but she covered the move by letting her eyes drag up his body as if she were openly appraising him. A slight quirk of her brow punctuated the appraisal as her eyes locked on his, returning his cocksure smile with a flash of dimples. "I wasn't aware the professor had a new TA," she said adjusting her glasses as if she was just a bit flustered. "Didn't I see you in his lecture today? I'm Sydney... Sydney Bristow," she reached out her hand in introduction. It was nice to be able to use her real name on a mission for once - posing as a college student definitely had its perks. "And you are?" 

"Dave Hasselhoff, I know, I should kill my parents," he said, reaching across the desk and shaking her hand. "I was in class. You were sitting in section D," he said, adding, "I have a pretty good memory. But like I said, the prof's not here. I can leave him a note that you were here, Sydney, but it still means you won't get to see him until morning." He decided he liked her name, it suited her. If he weren't busy trying to get rid of her, he'd be busy trying to get her to go for a drink or something. "See ya in class?"

Sydney let out a girlish giggle at the name and lowered her eyes shyly, which gave her the opportunity to shift her weight and move around to the side of the desk where she saw the corner of a large canvas duffel bag. This was definitely a guy who was used to charming his way out of jams, but he wasn't getting rid of her that easily. He'd been looking for something in that cabinet - it was the same one she would have already started in on if he hadn't been here. 

"So... Dave Hasselhoff... really? UCLA is a far cry from Baywatch..." she said, ignoring the attempted brush-off and turning on a bit of her own charm as she lifted her eyes to look at him through dark lashes, her hand surreptitiously slipping over the flap of the satchel at her hip. "So does the professor know you're in here rummaging through his things?"

Crap. It had been going so well too, he'd thought she was falling for it. _Never trust a hot looking librarian._ "Look I don't know what you're talking about but it's too late for busy-bodying, you get my drift?" He nodded toward the door. "I just need to finish up in here then lock up, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." If his charm wasn't working on her, he wasn't going to waste it. 

"Actually no... no I don't get your drift," Sydney said, not dropping her facade of innocence as she reached just into the outer pouch for her cell phone. "I'll just be calling security to make sure you're supposed to be here." 

Double crap. "Hold on." He waited a fraction and pulled out a badge from the inner pocket of his jacket hoping to hell it was the right badge. "I'm with the CIA. Agent Andy Beddington," he said, flashing it at her. "This is a matter of national security, so I'm sure you'll understand that I can't give you any details, and I'm going to have to insist that you leave, right now. You're free to call security, but if you put this investigation in peril, don't be surprised to find yourself in hot water for interfering with a government investigation." He hoped she wasn’t as stubborn as the stiff lines of her body implied.

Sydney's brows rose with genuine surprise when she saw the flash of the badge - if it was a fake, it was a good one. Did the SD-6 get their wires crossed? Or was there another arm of the CIA working a different angel? "A matter of national security... I wouldn't want to interfere with that, but I'm sure you understand if I'd like to check out your story." She held out her hand for the badge. "Dr. Pasquali is a good professor... if he's in some kind of trouble..." she paused and worried her lower lip as if she was way out of her league. "I'd like to see that badge, if you don't mind."

"Of course," he said tightly, fishing out his card and passing both items to her. "If you have any questions after we're done here, my number's on there. So's my superior officer's contact information." He had the feeling she was gonna be a problem and that the direct approach, telling her to call his boss, wouldn't work as well as letting her reach that decision on her own. With a little help from him. 

Sydney took the badge and gave it a good look. It appeared to be legit, as did the business card. "This is your superior? Lieutenant Fisher?" She let out a sharp sigh and pulled out her cell phone and made like she was dialing the number of the card as she punched in the digits for her handler's direct line. "Hello, my name is Sydney Bristow," she said formally to tip off Michael that she was in a potentially compromising position. "I need to verify that the man here claiming to be a CIA agent is really who he says he is." She paused a beat and read off the name and badge number. 

When Michael told her it was bogus, a flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes as she looked into the intense greens of the impostor that stood not three feet from her. "Alright. Thank you very much for the information," she said neutrally as she flipped her phone shut. 

"I'm sorry to have held you up, Agent Beddington," she said. As she slipped the phone back into her bag, she drew her weapon in a smooth motion. But in the split seconds that it took her to level and cock the sleek glock 22, he'd drawn a sawed off shotgun from his duffel and had it trained at her midsection. "Who the hell are you?" she questioned, her jaw pulsing with tension. 

His gaze narrowed on her as he went through a mental checklist of who or what she might be. Demons didn't usually walk around with guns, they didn't need them. Neither did angels. As far as he knew, those groups were the only ones currently interested in the spear, so that left humans. A butt load of them, from collectors, to museums, to insurance investigators. One thing was for sure, though, she was no student. 

"Why don't you go first, sweetheart. I've got the bigger gun." In other circumstances, he might have admired her choice of weapon. Now, he just wanted to know if she knew how to use it, or more importantly, how not to get spooked into shooting.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not the size that counts? I would think you'd have heard that a lot," Sydney said, adjusting her grip on the gun. It was modified to shoot tranqs, but he didn't need to know that. She slowly moved around the side of the desk to get a better look at his bag as she continued talking. "Look, it's obvious you feel like you have a lot to compensate for. I don't want to hurt you... why don't you just put that down and we can talk."

"That would hurt more if you weren't playing 'librarian chic,'" he shot back, leaving out the 'hot' part. "Talk, yeah let's do that. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine. Name and shtick, that is," he said, following her movements as she got closer and toed his bag. Moving suddenly, Dean grabbed the barrel of her gun and twisted it away from her. As he yanked it to get it out of her hand, he found her making the same play and giving him the choice of letting go of his weapon or hers. 

Cursing, he shoved her but kept his hold on her weapon, very aware that she was trying to turn it on him. In the short struggle, he ended up being slammed back against the desk, then wheeling her around so she was facing the desk and he was behind her. That's when he heard someone fumbling with the door knob and with his hand clamped on her wrist, quickly shoved his gun under his jacket.

Acutely aware that someone was at the door and her cover was about to be blown, Sydney jerked her head back, slamming it into his chin as she abruptly shifted her weight and spun beneath him. He still had her wrist, but she fell back to the desk and hooked her leg around his back to bring his weight down on her so he couldn't use the shotgun that was now pinned between them. She was forced to tuck her weapon into the waist of his jeans at the small of his back to free her hand. Grabbing the back of his neck, she brought his mouth to hers just as the door opened. 

"Follow my lead or you get a bullet in your ass," she hissed, her mouth closing over his just as the door finally opened to a befuddled professor with keys dangling in his hand.

Dean was seeing freaking stars and he wished he could say it was from the kiss and not the unexpected head-butt. This was almost as bad as getting ass-kicked by his own mom, dammit. He wasn't very happy about the cold metal he felt at his back, right next to his own piece, either. A number of other complaints came to mind but he clamped down on them, choosing instead to show her who would follow whose lead. 

Cupping her ass with one hand, he lifted her onto the table, and slid his other hand behind her neck, bending her back as he kissed her. The awkward position would put her at a disadvantage, at least that was his theory, until he thrust his tongue into her mouth, just past her teeth.

He'd meant to teach her a lesson, that was true. But as he moved his mouth over hers, he hadn't counted on the sudden rush of heat that swept away most of his rational thoughts. Instead, he held her tighter, wanting more, exploring the depths of her mouth as he tangled his tongue with hers. Dean never fully forgot that they had an audience, or that her gun was within her easy reach, but it was as if all that didn't matter at the moment, only this mattered... that he felt alive for the first time in a very, very long time.

Unexpectedly disarmed by the intensity of his returned kiss, Sydney's entire body came alive as adrenaline pounded through her system. She jerked the back of his jacket down to conceal her weapon even as her leg clamped harder around his thigh to counter his attempt to keep her off balance. It wasn't until the professor cleared his throat for the second time that she finally broke the kiss and turned her head as if noticing him for the first time. She didn't have to manufacture the color to her cheeks to feign embarrassment, they were flushed with heated arousal – something that absolutely wasn't supposed to happen in the line of duty. What was wrong with her?

"Oh God! Andy... _Andy!_ get up," Sydney moved her hand to his chest to push him off. "Dr. Pasquali. We're so sorry... we... were in the hall... and-and your office was open." As she levered upright, she tried to retrieve her weapon, but her unwanted cohort was too fast and had already moved so he was behind her. Instead she dropped down to a crouch as if scrambling to get her bag and losing her glasses in the process. "Oh no!" she stammered nervously. As she fumbled under the desk to grab them, she deftly inserted a data replicator with a wireless transmitter in an unused port at the back of the computer's CPU. 

"Careful not to break your glasses," Dean said, kicking himself for losing his concentration. She was armed. She didn't really need her glasses. She wasn't like any hunter he'd met, so who the hell was she and what did she want. Thinking he'd get that drive off her, he didn't give her away as she popped up, looking much too innocent. 

"Ah, Professor, I was actually waiting for you outside until Ms. Bristow distracted me," Dean wiped his thumb over his mouth noting with amusement the irritation in her eyes. He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I need five minutes of your time. Syd... would you mind waiting for me outside?"

"Oh no, pumpkin head, you know I can't stand to be away from you for a minute," she gushed and sidled up next to him, slipping her hand around his back to snatch her gun out of his waistband. "I can't _wait_ to hear what you have to say."

"For cryin' out loud. Don't you kids have electronic contraptions for sexting or some other nonsense now? Are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?" The befuddled professor shook his head and set his books down wondering if he was going senile before his time. He could have sworn he'd locked up before he'd headed over to the library. 

"Office hours are from four to six, Tuesday, Thursday and every other Monday," he said tapping on the notice posted on the bulletin board that was mostly covered by dozens of articles, white papers and maps he had tacked up all around the room. "Now you kids skedaddle on out of here," he made a shooing motion with his hands.

"Kid... _singular_ , and that would be her, actually I'm not a student." Dean straightened and moved away from her thieving hands. "I ah, I'm helping a well-known author with historical research and I just need a few minutes, maybe fifteen, of your time. It would be a great help and I think if his book is a hit, as it will be, there might be grant money in it for you... the school. In this economy, that's always a plus." 

"It's late. Maybe tomorrow--"

"See that's the problem, I'm only in L.A. today and I'm flying out tomorrow morning. If you absolutely can't, then I understand." Dean didn't like the way the professor was shaking his head 'yes.' "I'll just have to have a chat with the second best authority, I guess. Professor Aldrich, he's still at Utah State, isn't he?"

"I have a few minutes," the Professor blustered.

Grinning, Dean grabbed Sydney's arm and started to steer her to the door. "Why don't you get the wine and the candles going, sweetums, and I'll be home shortly," he said, giving her a wink. 

"Oh don't be silly," Sydney gave her arm a sharp jerk and flashed a saccharine smile before turning back into the office and moving to the wall that had all the papers posted on the bulletin board. "You two just go on about your business and I'll be quiet as a mouse." When she had a hand-drawn sketch of particular interest in her sights, she reached up to adjust her glasses, pressing the hidden button on the frame to take a high resolution photo.

"All right then, let's have it," the professor said ignoring his student to turn his attention to the researcher. "What did you say your name is? And who's this author? I won't have my name sullied in any kind of trash, you hear." 

"Ah... Dan Brown, did you see, I mean read, Angels and Demons? He's the author, so no trashiness, scouts honor." 

With her back to the two men, Sydney's brow furrowed as she split her attention to focus on her own mission while trying to work out what this guy was up to. Passing himself off as a researcher for a novelist wasn't a bad ruse, but he didn't carry himself like an intellectual and the agent didn't think he'd get very far with it. But as long as he kept her target distracted long enough for her to collect the intel she needed, the agent would let him run with it.

Dean walked up to the table, put his hands on it and leaned in toward the professor, keeping his voice low but he didn't have high hopes that she would have the hearing of an eighty year old. "His next book is dealing with certain biblical relics. The holy lance... spear, to be specific. I understand you've done research trying to chase it down."

The professor shook his head. "Well, yes and no. I have done _some_ research, but all of it has already been published. My further efforts have been in partnership with the Vatican."

"The Vatican. How do you mean?"

"I'm working in partnership with a student at the University of Utah who has a brother who is a Cardinal at the Holy See."

"The what sea?"

It was all Sydney could do not to roll her eyes, but when her gaze flicked across an ornately carved bookend she shifted her position so she could get a good image.

"Holy See, Vatican City," Dr. Pasquali explained. "Thanks to Bill's connections, we are getting access to a lot of information which would otherwise be impossible to get. In any event, I have not yet gotten to that part of the project or performed a detailed check of much of the research. You should contact him, he's a good kid, he'll probably answer some of your questions." Grabbing a pen and pad, he wrote the student's name and phone number down.

Dean was quick to grab the scrap of paper, and gave Syd a 'back off' look.

Sydney quirked a brow and gave him a tight smile. If the nature of his questions hadn't hit right at the heart of her mission, the double-agent would have dismissed the guy as a rank amateur and he wouldn't even be on her radar. But the way he'd come alive the instant she'd made him... the way he moved and used the weapon as if it were a part of his body... no, he was more than just a Robert Langdon wannabe. She'd get the name off him and, as long as he didn't get in her way, he wasn't her problem.

A flicker of respect flashed in Sydney's eyes before she resumed her sickeningly sweet smile and batted her lashes. "Did you get what you came for sweet potato? Can we go now?" 

He saw the challenge in her eyes and wished he could take her up and see whether she could get the paper from him once they were outside, which was no doubt part of her plan. The other part? He wasn't sure, but from the way she'd talked to the CIA, he'd gotten vibes of 'law enforcement.' She'd probably try to arrest his ass or something and he really didn't want to hurt her, which he would if had to. This was too important to him to fuck up over trying to play nice with humans. Though... he sure would like to _play nice_ with her.

"Sure thing, hot lips. Just as soon as I get that pencil you dropped," said matching her smile as he slowly started to bend over towards the hard drive of the computer where she'd left her thumb drive.

Eyes narrowing to slits, Sydney dropped down and slipped between him and the hard drive. "Oh, no, I wouldn't want you to throw out your back again marshmallow." So he was smarter than he looked and had seen her plant the device. It should have had long enough to transmit the data to their tech guy, Marshall, so she ducked her head and moved under the desk to grab it. 

The moment she dropped down next to him Dean's mind went to bad, bad places. _Really body? Now?_ Releasing his lower lip from between his teeth, he took a quick breath. "I'll meet you at home snuggle-bunny, and I promise you there won't be anything as soft as a marshmallow in sight. Professor, if you could just answer the question she had, it'd make my life much easier." Figuring he'd overstayed already, Dean gave the stunned professor a salute and left the room and was quickly at a dead run in the long hallway.


	2. Chapter 2

So, pick the brain of some brainy kid who worked with Professor Pasquali, couldn’t be that hard, right? Wrong.

Dean’s phone calls to Bill Summers had gone unreturned so Dean drove out to the University of Utah and started poking around. It turned out that the graduate student had been missing for over a week. It was in all the papers so Dean thought it was weird that the Professor hadn't seemed. When he called Professor Pasquali, the professor said that Bill had been in contact with him by e-mail. So had the kid just quit school to work on the professor’s project?

After Dean dug into the guy's background, he just knew he wasn't dealing with someone who would pick up and go on a whim. Disguised as an FBI agent, he'd talked to Bill's parents and everything they told him painted a picture of someone who was meticulous and ordered, who’d had planned out his life from when he was ten or so, and who'd never been irresponsible. Not someone who'd drop out of sight and make his family and friends worry while he got his research-kicks looking for the holy sword.

From some of the students, Dean found out something that didn't jibe well with what he knew about Bill. He was told that Bill had been seen with members of a biker gang called the Death Lords. He'd figured it must be some yuppie wanna-be-badass-on--weekends type of gang, but a little research showed quite the opposite. It was a gang that had been started in San Bernardino, California, in the 40’s or 50’s, and now it was spread across the country and was 30 chapters strong. The gang had been investigated by authorities a number of times and arrests and convictions had been made for dealing methamphetamine, racketeering and murder. They were the kind of people Dean would expect someone like Bill to stay the hell away from. 

So now he found himself in South Salt Lake, a seedy area of town, but not quite suffering, in a strip club. He'd taken up a position at the end of the bar that curved along the wall all the way to the stage, so he was up against the stage and could listen in on conversation when the music wasn't so loud. 

The place was crawling with big guys wearing leather jackets with red and white patches across the back depicting the grim reaper. Fights easily broke out and those punches weren't being pulled. This was no Disney biker gang, that was for sure. 

First, he’d need to figure out which of these guys were in the know about shit, and face them alone rather than in a pack. He wished that Sam... yeah, those days were over unless he got what he needed. And he would.

Sydney couldn't hear the DJ announce her stage name over the pounding crash of the death metal beat, but an unceremonious shove from one of the gang thugs put her in motion. Taking a breath, the agent steeled her expression, using the hard line of her jaw to accentuate the bad-girl persona she'd adopted to infiltrate the Death Lords as an exotic dancer in a club owned by them. The soft leather body suit clung to her curves as she strutted onto the stage to a roar of catcalls. She tried to scan the crowd to see if her target was in sight, but the cheap flashing strobe and spotlight made it difficult to see anything beyond the edge of the stage. She'd have to wait until the point in her routine when she was in the dark and the audience was lit.

The lip of the beer bottle was touching his mouth and Dean had been ready to take a swig, when the next dancer came out. She hadn't even started to dance, but Dean could see she owned the stage, and the audience. He wasn't the only one to put his drink down and pay closer attention. 

She wasn't even his type. Sure he liked his women sexy and unapologetic, but bright blue hair and a nose ring, not really his thing. Even as those thoughts ran through his mind, his eyes were focused on the way her hair brushed her shoulders each time she tilted her head to one side or the other and he knew there was no way he'd ever say 'no' if she offered him a lap dance. His gaze slide down her body. The black leather hot pants looked like they were painted on and left about nothing to his imagination. The moment she opened her long, lean legs in a wide stance and bowed backwards, reaching for the pole behind her, Dean felt the definite stirrings of lust.

He had all night, he could watch one dance without thinking about work, he told himself as she swayed back up and his eyes focused on her face. Thick black eyeliner gave her eyes a dramatic cat-like look and her scarlet lips were very hard to ignore. Something about her... yeah, she was different. Her eyes were anything but glassy and vacant like the other dancers, but there was something else. Something danced on the edges of his memory. Damn, it was hard to think as he watched her hips rock from side to side and her fingers grazed the spiked collar around her neck before moving to the zipper. _Fuck yeah._ His fingers tightened around the bottle as he held his breath.

Even as she pulled the zipper down to her belly button and rolled her shoulders to liberate her body from the restrictive leather, Sydney's mind was working ten steps ahead. All she had to do was catch the eye of the leader of the Death Lords, to be his chosen girl for the night. Once she had access to the private rooms underground, it was just a matter of subduing him before he got too handsy. Then she'd be able to rescue Bill and hopefully get her hands on the spear, if it hadn't already been moved through the gang's black market connections.

As the music reached a pounding crescendo she stepped out of the hot pants until she was wearing nothing but a black leather bra and g-string. Her accessories were all compliments of Marshall -- the spiked collar, matching wrist bands and stiletto boots were all fully equipped with weapons and tech. She kicked high and hooked her leg around the pole, arching her body back and flipping her legs over her head as she worked her way higher and higher. When she reached the top, she was suddenly bathed in darkness and quickly scanned the crowd until she spotted the gang leader sitting at the end of the bar, but it was the man sitting next to him that caused her to falter and nearly lose her grip. What was _he_ doing here!

In the next instant, the spotlight was back on her and Sydney fell backward, her body springing into a lithe flip. Without missing a beat, her hands stroked over her body, writhing to the rhythm of the music, but her mind spun ahead, playing out all possible scenarios. Was he working with them? Was he following the same lead she had? Was he following her?

Moving like a panther stalking her prey, she moved toward the leader, forcing herself to play to him as she bent over and her fingers teased under the string of her garment. But when her back was to him, she arched her neck and her eyes flicked to the guy she'd run into at UCLA. The look of recognition was instant and she pierced him with a menacing gaze. 

If he wanted up close and personal with the dancers, Dean was in the right place since they all knew to play it up for the leader of the Death Lords, who'd moved up the bar and was now sitting next to Dean. Practically mesmerized by the blue haired chic's movements, Dean lost his grin and went slack jawed when she bent over and their eyes met. _Her!_ How... she was the exact opposite of demure-hot-librarian-chick. 

He ran his hand over his face, trying to break the spell he seemed to be under. How? Well that was obvious. The same way he went from FBI agent to the kind of guy who'd spend hours at a strip club. Okay, maybe her change was more drastic, but still. 

So _she_ was here about Bill, and from what he could see, she was making points big time with Killer-dude on his left. Shit. And yeah, he meant that on multiple levels because he didn't think she was equipped to deal with these guys, even if she was good with pulling guns and playing around with computers. This was a whole other ballgame here and she didn't seem to realize it. And, determined as she was, and ahead of him for the moment, it seemed she had a shot at getting to Bill and finding the spear before him. Goddamnit... 

The look Dean gave her the next time their eyes met showed his frustration, though, when her hand moved over her bra straps, he was quickly reduced to just one of the guys waiting to see if it was just a tease.

Hips swiveling, Sydney redoubled her efforts to get on with the mission despite the added complication of a meddling element. But holy cow, those beautiful green eyes were distracting. The way he was looking at her with a mixture of shock and awe and something else... But she couldn't worry about that now. She had a job to do.

The secret agent locked eyes with her target and teased him with every undulating movement. When she knelt before him and arched her back, she knew it was do or die time. Her hands moved around behind her back ready to release her bra, but a beefy arm reached out and dragged her off the stage before she could. 

An almost victorious smile curled her lip as her eyes slid to the guy she only knew as bogus CIA Agent Beddington. Bruno had chosen his girl, and just like their source had told them, he never let anybody see the package before he got to unwrap it.

"You're with me, babe," the leader of the Death Lord's rumbled in her ear as he swept her into his arms and turned to take her toward the back of the club. 

Dean's jaw tightened at the triumphant look in her eyes. Any reasonable woman would not be happy to have been pulled off the edge of the bar like that and at the mercy of a guy three times her size, even if she needed information. Hell, Dean hadn't looked forward to being alone with the guy, and that was saying something. 

He tried not to react and just pretended to drink his beer, though he openly admired her assets, just like everyone else near them. 

As they walked away, Dean saw Bruno's hand slide down over Sydney's ass and squeeze. It was more than detached displeasure that had him gripping the bottle tight and forcing himself to stay at the bar for a reasonable time so it didn't look like he was following.

*

"Anyone walks in here and I'll fuck his shit up," Bruno said to one of his guys as he headed to the stairwell and opened the door. "You and me, we're gonna party like it's the end of the world." He sniffed her neck as she walked past him and started heading down the stairs. "What's your name? I like to know whose name to shout out," he said, leering at her ass in the dark stairwell.

"Roxie," Sydney tossed over her shoulder in a sultry whisper as she walked in a way that was sure to keep his eyes on her backside leaving her free to slip the vial containing the truth serum from her thick leather wrist band. "And believe me, I'll give you something to shout about..." she smirked and continued on into the underground rooms, her eyes taking in every detail before she turned to face him. 

"So you run this place?" Still palming the vial, she ran her hands inside his thick leather jacket and looked up at him with a spark of mischief in her eye. "Do I get the grand tour?" she probed, hoping to get an idea of where he might be holding the student captive. 

"I'll give you the grand tour, every inch of me," he agreed, pulling her close so she was pressed up against him. "Right after you give me the best, dirtiest lap dance ya got." He pressed his already hard cock proudly against her belly and started to walk her down the hall. "My office," he nodded to the right. "Private rooms," he said as they passed a series of rooms with open doorways covered with sheer curtains, music and groans streaming out of some of them. "None of your business," he said as they passed a metal door, and then he pushed a door open and practically shoved her inside. "Welcome to my love nest."

Sydney suppressed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat and focused on staying one step ahead of the manhandling oaf. She'd been in grittier situations, but this guy was just about as unsophisticated as they came and she couldn't help but wonder how this idiot had managed to get involved in something this big. "Nice," she nodded as if she were impressed by the relative luxury of the bed that dominated the room. She made mental note of the number of steps it would take to reach the "off limits" room which looked to be equipped with standard lock and bolt, but the guards could prove to be a problem.

"Now you have a seat, big boy..." she flashed him a dimpled smile as she shoved him back into the large chair. Having tucked the vial inside her bra within easy reach, she raised her arms and started dancing, hips swaying from side to side, teasing him with seductive looks until she was sure his guard was down. 

Turning, she planted her feet wide and bent over slowly, grinding over his lap without actually touching him. She used the opportunity to slip the syringe from her boot and load it with the serum so she was ready when he reached for her and pulled her into his lap.

"Yeah... yeah, that's it baby, closer," he said, a flush washing over him when she nearly sat in his lap but lifted up. He let her get away with it for another moment, then snarled, "I'm looking for full body contact here, bitch." When she didn't move fast enough, Bruno slapped a meaty hand over her ass and dragged her down hard onto his lip, "unzip it with your teeth," he demanded.

"Yeah, not happening," Sydney ground out with disgust as she countered his move and slipped back upright to jam the syringe in the artery that bulged from his thick neck. The serum was laced with a fast acting agent that would paralyze him in moments so all she had to do was step back out of his reach and wait. 

What she didn't expect was the flash of speed and impossible strength that had her pinned to the bed before she had a chance to blink. Her heart raced as she looked up into eyes as black as night, but it wasn't until he snarled and revealed double rows of razor sharp teeth that she erupted in an uncharacteristic scream.

"Scream baby scream," he snarled, his hand slipping up her body to her throat. "Who are you, and what are you doing here," he snarled, leaving the useless syringe sticking out of his neck. "Talk, unless you want to see how you look without lips." He brought his mouth closer to hers, refusing to budge even as she kicked at him.

Eyes wild with genuine terror, Syd reacted on pure instinct. Fighting for her life, she managed to get the dagger from her boot and with adrenaline-charged strength, she plunged it into his spine. 

Dean kicked the door open and had his gun out, pointing at Bruno's back. He'd followed her down and then chatted with a leather jacketed dude, an older guy who’d been more than willing to talk about classic bikes and cars as Dean pretended to wait for one of the dancers to change and get down here for his lap dance. He'd meant to stick around and find out what was going on, but the sound of a scream had him in action. He'd knocked the thug out and left his ass in one of the lap dance rooms. 

When he broke into the room, he expected to find Bruno going farther than Miss CIA wanted. Instead, when Bruno turned, he found himself facing a vampire. 

Goddamit, the world seemed to be crawling with them these days. Seeing the dagger in her hand, he shook his head. "You need a bigger knife," he said, shoving the gun into his waistband and pulling a long, serrated knife out of his inner jacket pocket. 

Bruno backhanded Sydney across the face and was off the bed and onto Dean in a fraction of a second. Dean slammed his elbow into the vampire's face, took a hit to the gut and twisted around trying to position Bruno just right. 

As soon as the weight was off her, Sydney sprang to her feet, grateful that the mystery guy chose that moment to horn in on her mission. She didn't know what was up with Bruno's dental issues, but he had to be on some freakishly strong drugs or something. If they could just hold him off long enough for the paralyzing agent to work... 

In a swift motion Sydney grabbed lamp and smashed it over the back of the Death Lord's head. But instead of knocking him off balance, it only caused him to turn back to her and lunge. 

"Sonova..." Dean went after him, this time getting his arm around the guy's shoulders from behind. Seeing as he didn't have a machete handy, instead of using the knife to slice across the vampire's throat, Dean stabbed the sharp end into his throat, from the front all the way through to his brain stem, then twisted it around and cut through to one side. Hacking the knife back the other way while holding the vampire by the hair, he decapitated the bastard and punted its head across the room.

If that was a flash of _anger_ in her eyes... of all things... "Look at the bright side, you didn't get your clothes dirty," Dean said, noting some blood had splattered over her, but not a whole lot. He, on the other hand, was partly covered in it. Wiping his hand, he told her, "I suggest you beat it, before all hell breaks loose."

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Sydney blurted, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. "I was about to interrogate him." Even as she spat out the words she knew something wasn't right. Blood should have been spurting everywhere, but instead it just pooled near the torso. 

She spun around as the guy casually wiped the blood from his knife and hands onto the bedspread. "You have _no_ idea what you've just stepped into, mister." She activated the two way-radio on her spiked collar, her eyes remained fixed on the guy as she spoke. "Vaughn. Mission compromised. It's that guy again... the one from UCLA."

"Are you okay Syd?" her handler's concerned voice came back.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But the target is... dead..." she glanced down again at the torso that seemed to almost be caving in on itself as if it was decaying before her eyes. "Before I could get any intel." 

Dean's eyes narrowed on her as he quickly assessed she had some sort of back up. "'Mission compromised?' How about 'ass saved?'" he asked. He was torn between getting out there and looking for Bill, and finding out who the hell she was and her goal. Was the CIA after the spear or did she work for some other group? Sliding the knife into his jacket, he glanced at door. How long before they discovered the body in the lap dancing room and came crashing in here?

"Do you need an extraction team?" Vaughn asked.

"No," Sydney shook her head, still not taking her eyes off the other guy. "I'll get the hostage and get out. But in the meantime, have Marshall run a face recognition on our mystery guy from the security footage last week. I'll check in when I'm clear." And with that, she severed the connection. 

Holding her position, she lifted her chin and leveled her gaze on the guy. As she looked him over, she suddenly felt all too exposed and an unexpected flush colored her cheeks. Determined not let his disarming good looks affect her, she stalked over toward the bathroom and grabbed a skimpy robe off the wall and cinched it tight around herself.

"Since they're not already breaking down the door, I assume you took care of the guards," Sydney reasoned. "And since our dead friend Bruno here made sure we wouldn't be bothered, we should have a few minutes. So while they still think their boss is getting the grind of his life, why don't you start by telling me your name since I'm about to find out everything about you soon enough." 

"Dan. Landis, though I doubt you'll find anything interesting on me. How about you give me your name. Your real one, and tell me what you're up to. You owe me at least that since I didn't hear a ‘thank you,’" he said, "Oh, the guard is in one of the pleasure rooms, so we don't have all day." He didn't miss the fact that the slinky robe did nothing to hide her curves. Damn, she sure had a way of making it hard for him to think.

The agent took a deep breath and ran her fingers through her hair. "Okay, Dan." She glanced back over at the head, its expression frozen in a gruesome rictus, rows of shark-like teeth making it look more like a monster than anything human. "Thank you," she said, turning a sincere gaze back on him. 

"My real name _is_ Sydney... Sydney Bristow. And I really am a student," she told him with a slight shrug. "Though it's mostly my cover these days. I'm with the CIA. We've been working this operation for a while now and I can't let you interfere the mission -- despite your fortuitous timing," she added with a dimpled smile before her expression turned serious again. "I'm going to have to ask you to step aside."

"Are you hiding a machete in there," he nodded toward her skimpy outfit. "Because if there are any more of _them_ out there, I'd like to hear how you're going to handle them," he said, crossing his arms.

"I'm well-armed," she said, lifting her chin defensively. "And I can handle these thugs. Another few seconds and he would have dropped from the drug I gave him and I would have the answers I need. Seriously? A machete? What are you anyway... some kind of back woods Ninja?"

"Back woods ninja... I like it." He should just walk out, but he didn't. "So you didn't notice that your drug didn't work?" He assumed she'd been trying to immobilize Bruno. "And the fucked up teeth, that escape your notice, agent Bristow?" He could tell she was ready to climb up her high horse so he acted quickly, walking to the corpse and kicking it in the chest so it rolled over onto its back. 

"How about that, would you call that a _human_? Try vampire, and you _will_ need something sharp. Guns are useless, you know I'm packing," he said, noting he hadn’t used one. "Now you and me, we're looking for the same guy. You want to do it together and give me five minutes with the guy, then he's all yours?" He didn't mention the spear and didn't have any intention of letting her drag Bill anywhere unless he wanted to go with her, at least not unless he was sure she was CIA.

Sydney let out a bark of laughter, but as her eyes followed his, she realized that he wasn't making a joke. The corpse _didn't_ look normal. There had been absolutely no sign of arterial pumping after decapitation. And that head... she moved over to the head and crouched down to examine the teeth. There would have been no way he could have had some kind of denture to cover the multiple rows of razor-like fangs. She slowly rose to her feet and stared at the guy. "What is this? Some kind of cult?" she started to question, but a shout caught her ear and she realized they were out of time.

"Come on," she said as she darted for the door. They'd just have to sort this out later. With her dagger in one hand she pulled her tranq gun from her other boot and started out the door. She'd only made it two steps when she turned to see one of the Death Lords with those same fangs bearing down on them. "Dan!" she called the warning out, but she was already on it, walking to the thug and showing him a flash of her blade as she side stepped him, and forced him to turn to her. 

This time, it wasn't a fluke. Dean knew she was drawing the vampire's attention on purpose so he had a chance to get behind it so he could put a choke hold on it. The vampire walked backwards, stepping away from her, and slammed it’s back into him, pressing him into the wall. Cursing, Dean held on and worked on getting the knife at the right angle. Course she picked that moment to kick the thing in the stomach so Dean's back was smashed against the wall twice more before he slit its throat.

Shoving it to the ground and stepping on its chest, he finished the job. "Get the door," he said, then rolled the body inside. "Get the head." He was sure she would tell him to take a hike. 

Sydney grimaced, but grabbed a fistful of hair and tossed the head through the door after the rest of the body. "This way," she said and bolted down the hall. 

Realizing she wouldn't have time to pick the lock, she slowed and slipped her hand behind her temporary partner to lift the pistol she knew would be tucked into the small of his back. In a swift motion, she shot the lock and slammed her shoulder into the door to push it open. "There's an underground passage that leads into the sewer system that way. Make sure our exit is clear," she said before ducking into the room. 

He glanced inside the room, saw a startled clean-cut kid in front of a computer and realized she'd found Bill. "Alright, but I want my gun back. _Both_ of them," he added, leaving to make sure the coast was clear. 

He hurried down the hall and saw where there was a grill on the ground. Bending, he put his fingers through the gaps and pulled it up, shoving it to the side and looking up as he heard her pushing Bill to hurry. Standing up, he made room for the two of them to head down the ladder while he scanned for more company. He hoped her intel was right but it wasn't like they could drag Bill upstairs and walk him out of the club, especially now that he knew vampires were involved. No wonder this gang had the rep it did.

Thanks to Marshall's mission briefing, Sydney was able to lead them through the maze of sewers. They emerged out of a manhole on a littered street where she had a car waiting. She entered the code for the keyless entry and the doors unlocked. "Get in," she told Dan as she put Bill in the back seat, promising him that he was safe now. As soon as she got behind the wheel, she put on her blue tooth and dialed her handler. "Vaughn, we're clear and I'm en route with Bill. What's the story on our mystery man?" she said flicking a glance over to the guy as he stood outside the passenger door, not yet willing to get in. "Get in the car... _please._ " 

His car was on the street in front of the club, but there was no way he was letting her take Bill. Opening the door, he locked gazes with her and put his hand out. "Give me my piece."

"What's going on, I thought you two were the cops," the shaken student said from the back seat, as he watched the tug of war between the pair. "Get me outta here, please."

Sydney's jaw hardened as Michael read off the rap sheet for the guy that had just saved her ass from something she still hadn't quite wrapped her mind around yet. Dean Winchester. Wanted by the FBI for murder, grand theft, and impersonation of an officer. She knew the Lords of Death would be combing the streets in a matter of minutes and she couldn't very well let the guy go, so she made a split second decision to hand him back his weapon. She knew he had a shotgun on him anyway, so it didn't make much difference. Once he was in the car, she peeled away from the curb.

"Sydney? Syd? Is everything okay?" Michael was saying urgently in her ear.

"Yes," she said evenly, giving no hint of the plan she was formulating. "Tell Cook I'll be at the transfer point in ten minutes. And keep trying to dig up intel on the mystery man," she added to make him believe she didn't know anything yet.

"Syd..." Vaughn said, recognizing the tone in her voice.

"I need you to check one thing for me," she cut him off. "Vampires. Do the Death Lords have some kind of underground cult going?"

"Uh..."

"Just check it out," she said before ending the call. 

"Ten minutes? We're stopping in five," Dean told her. She'd been using her earpiece this time so he hadn't heard what was being said to her, and that made him nervous. "Alright, pull over. I said pull over," he repeated, though he didn't raise the gun. He did have to hang onto the door handle as she brought the car to a careening stop in an empty parking lot. He shot her a glare, but turned bodily toward Bill. 

"Bill, I'm a private investigator. I spoke with Professor Pasquali and also your parents, they're very worried. Obviously they want you home and we're gonna get you there, but you might need some protection because until those people get what they want, they won't stop." At the guy's nod, Dean continued. "Did they get it. The spear?" It was obvious she knew about it so there was nothing to gain in beating around the bushes about it.

"No, it's not in the states." Bill ran his hand through his hair. "I mean I told them, told them everything, but they wanted to monitor my emails anyway."

"Where is it?"

"Well after World War Two--"

"The short version. Please. Agent Bristow is anxious to be on her way, and before that happens, I need some answers."

"Um okay. My best guess is that by now it's en route to Vatican City. It's being shipped to Amsterdam first, for an expert to look at it," he added. "If it’s the right one. I mean we've tracked 3 of them so far and two of them have been frauds."

"Amsterdam and Italy... great. And they know about this? The Death Lords?"

Bill nodded. "I thought they were going to kill me. Besides, it's not even a secret. I mean it's a myth. The powers of the spear," he shrugged. 

Dean got a few more details out of Bill with Sydney butting in with her own questions, which might have bugged him if they weren't good ones. It was kind of like having Sam along, though the thought of Sam in her getup... eesh. 

When Dean was satisfied he'd gotten everything he needed, he looked at her. "Gimme your card. I want to call your information in, to confirm you are who you say."

Sydney shot Dean a steely glare. The jackass really had some nerve questioning her identity when he was still feeding her a load of total hooey. "Sorry, I don't have a card on me..." she gestured to her outfit. "You can call my handler," she handed over her cell phone. Just hit redial. His name is Michael Vaughn." She really hoped Vaughn had figured out where she was going with this and play along. 

"I know that trick." A muscle throbbed in his jaw. He pulled out his own phone and called Bobby, giving him Sydney's name and description and asking him to call the CIA and see if they had an agent by that name. He didn't want to mess around with waiting on hold until they got him to the right department. A few moments later, his phone rang and Bobby told him she was legit. "Thanks, I'll tell you later," he said, ignoring the man's demand to know why it was so important to wake him up in the middle of the night.

"Alright, Agent Bristow, always a pleasure." He grinned, and he actually meant it. "If you give me your number and want to have a drink after... after your handler ‘handles you’ or whatever, I'll let you know where to meet me." Opening the door and stepping out, he leaned in, waiting on her answer. 

Sydney grit her teeth and swallowed. He was a murderer and she had to remember that. She didn't want to let him just walk away, but delivering Bill to safety was her priority. "Give me your phone and I'll put it in for you," she reached her hand out, offering a sweet smile. 

"Yeah? And what else will you put in?" he asked. "Tell you what, lemme see what's in your hands." The last thing he needed was for her to use her hi-tech-foo and put a bug in his phone or some sort of tracking device. When she showed him, he was sure he should still be doubting that innocent expression of hers, but he handed the phone to her and watched carefully to make sure didn’t play one of her tricks.

"Not very trusting, are you..." she said with a shake of her head. With just a few extra deft movements across the keypad, Sydney was able to retrieve the IP address so she' be able to track his location through the phone's GPS before handing it back with her number added to his contact list. "Just give me time to get changed and then let me know where you want to meet."

"Fine. Syd... don't bring anyone." His tone held a hint of a warning, before he pulled back, pocketed the phone. 

Maybe he could catch a bus, or take one of the cars parked at the gas station/garage across the street. Formulating his plan, he pulled his jacket collar up and crossed the street.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean picked a relatively nice hotel bar that had the bonus of having many exits and being packed with people, which would make chases difficult. Standing at the end of the bar, near some pool tables, he gave Sydney a call. A part of him thought she might have given him the wrong number since things like phone numbers had informational value, but she picked up. He quickly told her were to meet him, the added, "so what color hair should I be expecting?"

"Now where would the fun be in telling you that?" Sydney answered with a coy lilt to her voice. Once Marshall signaled that the location he'd given matched the GPS coordinates of his phone, the agent said with a perky chirp, "See you soon!" before she severed the call.

Ten minutes later a platinum blonde Sydney hip-swayed her way into the bar. She wore a clingy teal mini-dress, low cut and leaving little to the imagination. Guys with a rap sheet like Winchester didn't tend to waste time in their imagination, and Sydney didn't have time to waste -- she planned to be on a flight out to Rome before the night was over. After her debriefing earlier, Michael was ready to just turn Dean over to the Feds and let them deal with him, but SD-6 was up to something and she needed to find out what was going on. So far, Dean was her only lead. Once she got what she needed, she'd gift wrap him and drop him on the FBI's doorstep herself.

She scanned the bar as if she hadn't already gotten a fix on his location and relative proximity to the exits, allowing her face to light up in a smile as soon as she saw him. "Hey Dan," she grinned as she slipped onto the bar stool next to him. "It's nice to take a night off for once. Thanks for the invite." 

He wasn't shy about looking her over from head to toe, and back. If you dressed to start fires, you shouldn't be surprised to see the smoke rise, at least that was his theory.

"You change styles faster than Barbie," he said, giving her an appreciative grin. "So how many minutes do I have, before the place is swarming with FBI," he asked, suddenly more direct. With her, he realized he needed to get straight to business because she was damned good with her distraction ploys, too damned good. And she had the equipment to back it up.

Her brows pulled together as if she were disappointed. "I told you I was off the clock. I thought this was... oh... God. _So_ not a date, huh?" She took a deep breath and blew it out. "Wow. I just thought there was... something..." she gestured between the two of them. And even though she was playing a role, she couldn't help but think she wasn't exactly lying just then, and in fact the color that flushed her cheeks when that thought hit her was altogether too genuine. Still, always a professional, Sydney didn't miss a beat. "Look. I'm an idiot. I read the signals all wrong. There's a reason I'm single," she added with a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm sorry..." she picked up her pocketbook and slipped off the stool to leave. 

If she was playing him, leaving now didn’t make sense. He wanted this to be real, but he was also a realist, so he was wary. He knew she could bring a swarm of law enforcement personnel down on him in one phone call, or with a signal, if she had someone there. He probably never should have asked for the meet up, but he just hadn’t wanted it to be ‘the end.’ He still didn’t, even if it was risky. 

Dean made up his mind and closed his hand lightly around her arm, preventing her from leaving. "You know what I'd love? I'd love to get a bottle of your choice, take you home, and maybe find out what your real hair color is. A little music, a little..." his gaze dropped to her lips. Damn they looked soft. "... you and me time." His hand slipped up to her shoulder, and curled around the back of her neck as he drew here close, cocking his head to one side like he was about to kiss her. 

He'd meant to tease her, but instead found himself leaning in and moving his mouth over hers, his brain registering how silky smooth her lips were as he sought entrance to her mouth, his tongue delving inside hers when she dropped her token resistance. A flood of sensations ran through him, and had him getting up off the stool to draw her closer, to really kiss her. He tangled their tongues together, his thumb absently stroking back and forth over the hollow of her collarbone, as he ignored all the warnings his years of experience had taught him.

The internal surge of triumph was quickly dwarfed by a tsunami of unexpected sensations as Sydney lost herself to the kiss. Sure he'd taken the bait, but as her head started to swim with thoughts that were most definitely not part of the job, the agent wondered who was reeling who in. Fighting to stay in control, she pulled back, breathlessly searching his eyes for any hint that he'd seen through her ruse.

"Wow..." she blurted dumbly, having momentarily lost the persona she'd walked in with. "I... wow." Dimples bracketed her mouth as she dropped her head in embarrassment. "Aren't you worried that there's a SWAT team about to close in?" she lifted her gaze to look at him through thick lashes. 

"Yeah, but you're worth the risk," he said, stunned into complete honesty. The way his mouth was burning, the way he was ready for more, more kissing, more learning about who she really was under all the wigs and make up, and more verbal sparring, definitely up for more of that, he knew he was in trouble, that he was too close to letting his guard down. "So you're saying this is for real? Truce. Get a drink?" His eyes grew warmer. "Or whatever."

Sydney swallowed hard, searching his eyes for truth. He seemed so sincere, but he was still lying to her. He was still a murderer. And she still had a job to do.

"Get a drink..." she nodded slowly, still a bit breathless as she struggled to regain control of the situation. "...and _whatever..._ " she added with a coy smile designed to maneuver him into position. He was good at pretending to be something he wasn't, so she had to be better. She slipped off the bar stool and leaned in close so her hip was pressed into his inner thigh. "You have some place we can go?" 

The heat of her body seeping through his jeans was making it harder for him to think now that he knew how the night would end. "Sure I do. Wine?" he asked, calling the bar tender over. A little liquor first would even the playing field so that maybe he didn't have to concentrate too hard on what she might have up her sleeve, and could instead accept this as a gift. 

Sliding his hand up her spine and resting his palm against her back, he leaned in, "or maybe something in a shade other than red. You know, after that fun little vampire throw-down we had." He thought she'd eventually believed him, but given a few hours alone, there was a good chance she'd explained everything she'd seen away. If that was the case, he needed to know that.

Sydney stiffened when her mark brought up the vampire thing again. He really seemed convinced it was true. She played off the sudden tension in her muscles by moving her body deeper into the V of his legs until the flat of her abdomen pressed against his groin. "Red is good," she tossed to the bartender, waiting for him to go away before she leaned in, her voice low and throaty as she traced her finger around the outer rim of his ear. "Vampire... I still can't quite wrap my mind around that. Just some kind of crazy cult thing, right? Like those people that get horns and tails surgically implanted... extreme fantasy fulfillment. That sort of thing... right?" 

Her breath was hot and skimmed his cheek, but her touch was hotter. He liked how she felt against him, not even a little shy. 'Course the memories of her dancing on that stage crowded his mind too, and had him tightening his grip on her. "Yeah... right. I mean if you ignore the super strength and the way they crumple up in a very non-human way when they die. But a smart agent like you, don't tell me you didn't send anyone back after the bodies. I mean--" His train of thought was lost when she shifted and he knew she had to feel how hard she was getting him. "Let's continue this conversation upstairs," he said, sliding off the stool and pushing her long blond hair behind her ear as he leaned in and whispered, "I'll have them send up a bottle of what you're having." 

Much to her alarm, his touch shattered the agent's carefully constructed facade and sent a jolt of arousal through her body until it coiled tightly in her belly. Unable to find the right words for the persona she was playing just then, she was relieved to be able to just nod and turn away and start toward the bank of elevators, managing at least to walk as if she meant every tease she'd dropped in his lap. It was her saving grace that his attention would be on her backside while he dealt with the bar tab, because the flush in her cheeks and inexplicably bashful expression would have blown her cover right then and there. Seriously. What was wrong with her? She had to get a grip! 

Sydney waited by the elevators while he went to the front desk to get a room. It only took a minute, but it was enough time for her to regain her composure and be ready to continue her mission to extract information before taking him into custody. "So... we were talking about _bodies..._ " she punctuated the word by pressing hers against his. He'd hit the button for the 14th floor. There was no need to send a coded message with the location - Marshall would be able to pinpoint the room by isolating the phone's GPS when she was ready. 

"And no, we don't typically send a crew in to extract the bad guys from their own haunt. They don't typically take kindly to that," she answered in response to his earlier comment. "My mission was to recover Bill Summers and we did that. The fact that I didn't get the intel I was looking for... well I have you to thank for that," she reminded him, moving her hand down his chest to his abdomen just to keep him off his guard as the floors flashed by on the digital display. "But you're right about the super strength and lack of blood. I thought maybe it was some kind of drug in their system... like phencyclidine mixed with some sort of powerful coagulant."

"I don't know of any drug that can put extra rows of teeth in someone’s mouth, but we can argue about this all night, or..." Cupping her ass with both hands, Dean pulled her up flush against his body, "or we can have a different kind of conversation." The doors opened, he stuck his elbow against it to keep it open and leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers. He'd almost thought he'd imagined the explosive heat between them, but the instant he delved his tongue into the silky depths of her mouth, it flared again, full force. Deepening the kiss, he pulled her closer, pressing his erection against her belly and leaving her in no doubt as to which way he was voting. 

He was serious about the vampire thing. Sydney clung to that disturbing thought as if it were a lifeline to keep from losing herself to the smoldering heat that flared between them. Focusing on the absurd idea of vampires was the only thing anchoring her to the job she had to do. She moved against him to let him know his message was received before they stepped out of the elevator and he led her to the room. 

A quick swipe of the card key had them inside the room and she stepped up her efforts to bring this thing to a close before it got out of hand. She continued kissing him as her hands moved to his chest to push off his jacket with the intent of liberating him of at least a few weapons. "So you really believe that... that guy was an actual blood sucking monster?" She spoke between panting breaths even as her fist closed around something that was definitely not a gun. When she withdrew from where it was tucked at the small of his back, her eyes widened at what could only be described as a wooden stake. 

The agent looked up at him and cocked her head. "Seriously?"

Taking his wooden stake and her pocket book from her, he dropped them both on the dresser, his gaze locking with hers as he backed her up against a wall. "'Blood _sucking_ monster.' Seriously." He didn't add that she should watch her word choices even though his mind had latched onto them and he had a few ideas about where she could put those hot lips of hers to use. 

As her hands roamed over the small of his back, he gave her a look and caught both her wrists, holding them pressed up against the wall. His heated gaze traveled down the column of her throat, to her chest, lingering on her curves before he looked back. "This is not a good time for Vampires 101," he said, brushing his mouth against hers and sucking her lower lip lightly when she parted them. He wanted badly to pull the wig off and see what her real hair was like, though he was sure it didn't matter. Anyone who pulled off blue and still look drop dead gorgeous was alright in his book. It was more a matter of curiosity. No, maybe more of a slowly simmering need to know more about her. 

Dipping his head again, he started to kiss a path down from her ear, along her jaw and to the soft curve of her throat. He nipped her once, then kissed the spot better, allowing himself to enjoy the moment, her scent, her taste. With her wrists clamped against the wall, he could drop his guard and explore her body at his leisure. 

Panting harder now, Sydney arched her neck and countered his movements with a thrust of her hips, lifting her leg to hook around his thigh to bring him tighter against her core. This wasn't going exactly as she’d planned, but hadn't Michael always said she was the master of improvisation? Allowing him to pin her gave him the false perception that he had the upper hand, but she was still in control. 

"It's always a good time to expand your horizons..." she replied through a breathy mewl of pleasure as his lips reached a particularly sensitive spot. "Tell me... Dan. Tell me what you know about them." Using the fake name was as much for her as it was to keep him thinking he had her over the rails. It reminded her that despite the exquisite care he took to caress her exposed flesh with his lips and tongue, he was a liar and he was just using her for a little bump and grind before he got on with his scam. 

The soft sounds she made set his blood on fire. He pulled her wrists together against the wall and held them with one hand, using his now free hand to lift her thigh slightly higher and grind against her. "You really expect me to talk?" he asked, sliding his hand up and down her side, then cupping her breast. "Later," he promised, seeking her mouth. This time his kiss was as demanding as the need rising in his body, his tongue sweeping across hers, tangling with it and chasing. Oh yeah, this was more like it. He explored her firm flat stomach and knew just how strong she had to be to have performed those pole moves. His hand moved lower, this time down to her thigh, the hem of her dress wrinkling like an accordion as he moved his hand back up her warm bare thigh.

It was clear the agent wasn't going to get any more information from her target, at least not voluntarily, and she knew what she had to do, but she couldn't reach the syringe tucked in the seam of her boot with her hands pinned over her head. Things were spinning out of control fast. But even as warning sirens sounded in her head, Sydney's body reacted to his touch. Her head rocked back and she let out a desperate gasp as his fingers coaxed her nipples to stiff peaks. She had to get him to release her hands.

When he pressed against her core, her hips bucked and she lifted her other leg until she was locked around his waist. "Bed. Now." she demanded between heated pants as their mouths crashed against each other. 

Holy hell, she had him on fire. "Bed... yeah," he instantly agreed, releasing her hands and closing his arms around her as he carried her toward the bed. He staggered a little, unable to see where he was going with the way she was kissing him, and he had no intention of stopping her. She was strong, the way she moved against him reminding him of her dance routine on the pole. It drew a moan from him even before she undulated her hips and brought their groins into hard contact. "So freaking hot," he muttered against her throat as she arched back toward the bed. Hell yeah, one more step and they were there.

The moment her hands were released, Sydney cinched her legs tighter so she could reach around his torso. Fingers clawed at his back with one hand while she reached for the zipper of her boot with the other. It would have been a difficult task under the best of circumstances, but with her entire body thrumming to the point of utter distraction it was more luck than skill that she managed to get the syringe in hand. With a flick of her thumb it was cocked and she was poised to plunge it into his neck. 

About to lower her down, Dean saw what looked like a weapon and immediately released her body and grabbed her arm. His fingers tightened around wrist, his gaze narrowing on the syringe and suddenly blazing with something other than lust. "Nice try sweetheart, but your sexpionage does _not_ work on me, I've seen you in action," he practically snarled, angry at himself because despite his words, he actually hadn't seen this coming. 

He started to push her to the bed when the heel of her other hand slammed under his jaw, hard. Hard enough to make him let go, stagger back and see white lights behind his eyes.

"Sonofabitch," he went after her, but she wasn't backing off, and she had a lot more tricks in her bag than just sex, he found out as they got into a full on physical fight, blocking each others' fists and legs and from getting knocked across the room. 

Between disarming him from his many weapons and dodging blows, Sydney had her work cut out for her. Even without his guns and daggers Dean Winchester had some damn fine moves – his unsophisticated street fighter tactics were every bit as effective as her finely tuned martial arts maneuvers. Where he had her beat on brute strength, she made up for with her nimble moves and ability to improvise. But in the end, it wasn’t enough and the agent found herself pinned up against the same wall where they’d started, only this time his forearm was jammed across her throat and she was one hard shove away from a crushed windpipe.

“Planning to add another homicide to your rap sheet, _Dean_?” she hissed, eyes lit with venom as they locked on his.

There was a split second of silence as he was caught by surprise, but he quickly answered, "only if you're a vampire, and honey, I already know you're hot blooded, so I guess you're safe." She was breathing hard, her hair was a mess, her lips swollen, and instead of having sex, they were fighting. What a fucking waste... 

"You gonna behave if I let you go?" He didn't give her an inch to move, it had taken too much effort to get her pinned in the first place.

"Vampire! Ha!" she scoffed, cheeks burning. "You should trade your leather in for a straitjacket." If she could just get to her purse she could signal for a team. As if on cue, her cell phone rang in her purse. "Since I'm not going to suck your blood -- or anything else, for that matter -- are you going to let me get that?"

"It can't be more important than this, can it?" He stared at her, a little annoyed that she wasn't backing down at all. This was the problem with being a nice guy. Still trapping her, he reached for her purse on the chest next to them and shoved his hand inside. Pulling out the cell phone, he put it to his ear. "Sorry, Sydney's busy right now. Leave a message and she'll get back to you after she gets out of a mess she's made. Beep?"

Vaughn bristled at the male voice that answered Syd's phone. "Dean Winchester," with some effort, he kept his voice controlled and even. The guy was smart. He'd ditched his phone in a delivery truck and they'd been chasing it all over town. Given the new orders he'd just received, he told himself it was a good thing the guy had brains. He was going to have to entrust him with Syd's life. "This is Michael Vaughn from the Central Intelligence Agency. I suggest you listen up if you value your freedom. Some unusual information has just been brought to my attention and I understand it's in line with your specialty. The CIA requests your assistance with this mission. If you cooperate, your criminal record will be expunged."

"The CIA requests my assistance with a fucking syringe to my throat? Try again, Agent Vaughn." He looked at Sydney, then hit the speaker button. Unfortunately, he did want his record gone. It would make things a lot easier on him, not having to keep ducking the police to avoid arrest on the damned warrant.

"What?!" Sydney blurted when Dean released the pressure on her throat. "Michael, what are you talking about? What's going on?"

"Sydney," Vaughn said with measured relief at hearing her voice. "My queries about the Death Lords you reported were intercepted by SD-6. We ran a trace to a deep ops group that deals with..." he couldn't even quite bring himself to say it. "Non-humans," he said finally. "Turns out your pal Dean is some kind of legendary supernatural hunter. If we're going to keep the spear out of SD-6 hands, we're going to need an inside man." 

Sydney's eyes lifted and locked on Dean's. "Non-humans? You mean... like _vampires_?"

"Legendary... you mean like Hercules?" Dean asked, wearing a grin and setting her free. Yeah he wanted to find out what the hell was going on, but there was always time for a little gloating. Staring into her incensed eyes, he thought he might even have several more moments for gloating.

"Hercules? More like Tarzan," she grumbled. This had to be some kind of practical joke. But her handler went on...

"Syd, I promise I'll give you a full briefing once we have the complete picture. Right now, you both need to get to the airport. We've got you on a flight out to Rome in 60 minutes. We'll have a security escort meet you. Dean, if you don't have all the supplies you need on hand, we'll have them delivered to your hotel room just outside Vatican City. Just let us know what you need."

"Just like that, I'm supposed to trust you." He rounded on Sydney and nodded for her to shut the phone. When she did, he searched her eyes. "This another trick?" He started collecting his weapons off the floor, but kept looking at her. "If I was a murderer, don't you think you'd be dead by now? I saved your ass, I barely touched you, well, over your dress at least, don't you think you should come clean with me?" He wasn't expecting much, but... "Hold on a minute, did that guy say airport?" Dean's stomach sank.

"Come clean with _you_?" Sydney blurted, completely incensed as she yanked off the blond wig and fingered through her brunette hair until it fell around her shoulders. "That's rich coming from you, _Dan_. I told you exactly who I was. It wasn't a lie," her voice caught in her throat and she turned away to dig through the rumpled bedspread to find the syringe she'd dropped. "I didn't try to trick you until I realized you weren't who you said you were at all." She paused a beat, gathering her senses. "And yes, he said airport. We need to go. Trust me or don't. Just remember who the liar was here..." she turned and looked over her shoulder, the fire in her eyes replaced by something else. Hurt. 

"I told you what you needed to know, and what could save your life. If I’d told you my real name, you weren't gonna try to arrest me?" He scoffed, "Just remember who made talking impossible with your little sexpionage. I expect the CIA to reimburse me for the cost of the room," he added, even though he'd put it on some Joe's credit card. "And I _still_ want my gun back," he added, following her out the room and to the elevator. He'd worry, about the flying. later.

* * *

Talk about being rushed into something. The instant he'd parked the Impala at the airport, they'd been surrounded by agents. Glancing at Sydney, Dean had wondered if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his life.

Then they'd been ushered out, pushed into a private office at the airport and briefed on their identities as they changed clothes and dropped all the weapons they'd had on their bodies. He'd given them a list of what he wanted, the standard equipment. Holy water, machete, knives, his own personal silver knife and bullets, a crossbow and various other things. The only item that had them raising their eyebrows had been his request for a jar of dead man's blood. 

By the time he was handed his new passport and tickets, he realized he hadn't gotten any answers from them and would need to get them from Sydney. When he turned to her, she was transformed once again. Her hair had been pulled up into some sort of up-do and she had a pair of fashionable glasses on. Her black knitted dress clung to her figure in all the right places, and might have looked conservative, if it weren't for the strategic keyhole slash across her chest. Right, perfect for sexpionage, though he hoped she turned it on someone else because it wasn’t any fun walking around with blue balls. 

Then they were boarding and seated in first class. He bucked up and tried to control his building panic. _Shit. Shit. Shit._

"Can I get you folks anything to drink?" A flight attendant asked.

"Yeah. Whiskey. Double," Dean said, hardly looking up to check her out. 

"Chardonnay," Sydney replied with a friendly smile. She could see the attendant looking over at Dean with concern so she gave a little "nothing to worry" about gesture as she accepted the wine.

Once they were left alone, she leaned over to him and gave a sharp hiss. "What's wrong with you? You're drawing attention to us." Being that close, she couldn't help but get a whiff of his cologne. She had to admit, he cleaned up quite nicely and he looked darn good in the suit -- not that his rugged look wasn't easy on the eyes... "We're supposed to keep a low profile," she added, snapping herself back from her stray thoughts.

He made a face as the airplane started to fill up. It just brought the time for take-off that much closer. "Just want a drink and your wine isn't going to cut it for me," he said, clenching his teeth and trying to bring his heart rate under control. As soon as the flight attendant brought his drink, he knocked most of it back in one go and gripped the arm rests, telling himself it would be alright. Truthfully? He'd rather be fighting an entire nest of vampires.

Sydney arched a brow and her mouth slowly pulled into a smirk. "You're afraid of flying! Not such a tough guy after all, huh?" she teased.

"What gave you that idea?" he asked tightly. He was not gonna give her the satisfaction.

"Oh I don't know... maybe it's that white-knuckled death grip you have on the armrest there..." she gave him a patronizing pat on the forearm. "...or it could be the fact that you didn't even so much as glance at the flight attendant's cleavage when she leaned over with her blouse unbuttoned."

"Maybe it's cause I'm in the land of the plenty," he shot back, giving her a pointed look. The plane started to taxi and stole the last of his courage. He slapped his hand over her arm on the armrest and pressed his hand over the back of hers. "Shut up."

Sydney let out a soft chuckle, but took pity on him and slipped her hand into his and squeezed. When he looked at her, she shrugged and smiled, "All part of the cover, Mr. Jenkins."

"Glad you take your work so seriously, Mrs. Jenkins." He closed his eyes and tried to control the damned trembling as the plane took to the air. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his heart was out of control. Dammit, he could do heights, just not planes. "How long's this flight?"

"We have short hop over to JFK in New York and then it's about eight hours from there." 

As soon as the attendants were out of their seats and circulating after take-off, Sydney flagged one down. "Another double whiskey," she tilted her head toward Dean. It wasn't likely they were going to have any trouble in the air -- nothing she couldn't handle. Then again... vampires and demons? She needed to know what to expect.

They hit a little turbulence and the plane jerked. She felt Dean's grip tighten and his face paled. "Listen. Look at me..." she waited until his eyes were focused on her. "I need you to tell me what we're going to be up against here... Demons 101. Let's go."

"Do I look like a damned psychic?" Yeah, she probably didn't believe in those either. Wait, he had to be nice to her or she wouldn't let him hang onto her. "I don't know what else is going after the ... item. Blood suckers are easy compared to demons," he said in a low voice, cursing as the plane shuddered again. "Couldn't we have taken a cruise ship?" He took a couple of deep breaths, then managed to tell her a little about demons and their few weaknesses. "That reminds me..." 

When the whiskey arrived, he snagged it, took a long sip and put it down on her table tray, then fished in his pocket. Pulling out an amulet with the same design as was tattooed on his chest, he pressed it into her hand. "Sorry it's not the diamonds you're used to, sweetheart, but it's the thought that counts, right?" He tried to muster a smile.

Sydney smiled before looking down, turning the charm over in her hand and running her thumb along the design. "I assume this means something? Or... it's supposed to do something?" she was trying to be open minded, but she was accustomed to microchips, not "hoo doo" as Dean called it.

"Yeah, means I don't want you to go Linda Blair on my ass if we do meet demons. I like to know who the enemy is." The way he said it made it clear he wasn't trusting her as far as he could throw her. That didn't mean he wasn't going to hang onto her though, for as long as he needed.

Her initial snort of laughter was tempered by the serious look in his eyes and Sydney gave him a nod, releasing his hand to fasten the chain around her neck. Fortunately it was long enough to nestle between her breasts covered by the knitted dress or it would have been a red flag to anyone who knew what to look for. As the flight continued, she asked more probing questions finding his answers more and more unbelievable. He described the supernatural causes leading up to events that correlated perfectly with what the media explained away by citing various natural and man-made disasters. Hell, her own _agency_ had explained it all away. It was mind-boggling to think that SD-6 knew about all this and had managed to keep it covert all this time. 

As they started to make their decent into JFK they hit more turbulence and Sydney sensed she was losing Dean again to his fear so she threaded her fingers with his and tried to draw him back with a little humor. "So I'm guessing you can't claim membership in the Mile High club?"

"Is that an offer?" His stomach roiled. "Oh God, gimme the barf bag."


	4. Chapter 4

The taxi ride to Hotel di Grandi hadn't been as unbearable as Dean expected. At least Sydney didn't make fun of him. Except, every time he looked in her eyes, he swore he saw laughter. He guessed if their roles had been reversed, he'd totally be gloating, so she was totally a 'bigger man' than him. 

They'd passed some farmland and then they were in the city. The buildings were large, ornate and had more colors on them than he'd seen anywhere back home. There were lots of tourists on the sidewalks, some real narrow streets and lots of honking of horns.

The taxi driver's eyes kept wandering to Syd, and that meant the guy was turning to look at the back seat while he was freaking pressing on the gas pedal. "Dude!" Dean pointed to the front windshield, but was easily dismissed with an “eh, no problem.” She enjoyed that too, he could tell.

The hotel lobby looked like a museum, with marble floors and high ceilings, maybe two or three storied up, that were carved and gilded. "Not your typical Motel 6," he muttered, as they were given the keys and then headed to the elevator. 

It was a little strange, the way the lobby was so huge, and their room could probably easily take in in four of any of the motel rooms he’d ever stayed in, and yet the elevators were smaller than any he’d ever seen. Then he walked into the bathroom and found it was as large as some motel rooms he'd been at. "Whoa, sunken tub. Room enough for two," he tossed out, as he explored the room, while she stood at the window looking like she wasn't surprised by any of this. "What?” He asked. “CIA has this big of a budget. Damn, now I know where my taxes would be going... if I paid them."

"What?" Absently, Sydney turned from the window as Dean's muttering pulled her from her thoughts. "Never mind," she waved her hand deciding he'd probably just made some crude comment designed to get her goat. He was good at that.

The agent's brow furrowed in concentration and she paced the length of the room as she mentally sifted through the update Vaughn had relayed when they were en route from the airport. They had the lead they'd been so hot to get, but so far it was a dead end.

"Alright, if you're not interested in what I have to say, then why don't you do some of the talking?" Dean went to the large bed and sat on the edge, then looked at her. "What did your man, Vaughn, have to say?" Vaughn. Bet he was a researcher type, with round glasses, pasty white skin from never seeing the sun, and uncomfortable when he was away from his little government issued cubicle.

"My handler," Sydney was quick to correct. "Not my man." No, Michael wasn't her man and never would be. He was Lauren's man now. Not that she was bitter about that. He'd thought she was dead. He'd had every right to move on. And so had she... 

Lips pursed tightly, she paced back in the other direction, not making eye contact with Dean. "They got a name from Bill. Nothing about boogie men, though. I'll let you know if Dracula makes an appearance. We've got a team working on it," she said as if that were the end of it. She moved over to the walk-in closet that already housed her clothing for the gala.

"Huh. So... what's the name," Dean asked, checking out her curves but quickly looking up when she turned. He had a feeling this woman had eyes in the back of her head.

Sydney sighed, tilting her head in reprimand to Dean's roaming eyes. "Balthazar ," she said evenly. "That's who the Death Lords were working for. But somehow I don't think we're looking for one of the Three Wise Men." It was more likely someone associated with Sloan, but they hadn't established any connections yet. "Don't sweat it. Like I said, we're working on it." 

"Are you working on looking at say..." he waved his hand in the air, "known vampire nests? Or, you know, magical artifact dealers?" He cocked his head, but knew what her answer would be. Even before she answered him he got up and retrieved his slightly beat up lap top from an extremely fancy leather brief case that the CIA team had shoved at him right before they'd gotten to airport security. "Look, I'm just saying, there's a reason you people even let me ride along, right? You got the FBI and the CIA databases and I got the 'everything else.'" Giving her a grin, he fired up the computer. "Don't you know how to relax?"

Syd’s brows popped with indigent surprise. "Vampire nests... magical... oh God," she groaned, knowing he was right. There was a reason they'd foisted a partner on her for this mission. "I know how to relax," she answered with a pronounced pout even as she continued her stiff, impatient pacing back and forth behind him. "Look, I seriously doubt--" she said stopping to look over his shoulder. "You know you can't just Google it. Eww. Gross. What is that?" she grimaced at the picture he pulled up of some kind of misshapen beast. "That's some seriously creative Photoshop, I'll give you that."

"Think so? I’ve got a couple scars that prove you wrong." He zoomed in, just to disgust here a little more, then moved onto a different site. "Balthazar... nah, these jokers are regular people," he said scrolling through a bunch of names. He started to narrow his searches down to vampires, his gaze moving back to her every once in a while. "No really, no pressure," he muttered, noticing the intensity of her stare. "You're worse than Sam is... was." He clicked through a few screens, his jaw tightening a little. "Bet you want to pull the lap top out of my hands already, cause you think you can find something faster." 

"Well I could. You're all thumbs with that thing..." she said, finally settling down on the edge of the bed next to him. She'd felt him stiffen and saw his hard swallow as if tamping down a lump in his throat. "Sam?" she pressed gently. Michael had mentioned a deceased brother when he'd first briefed her about Dean's true identity. "Your brother?"

He gave her a sharp glance. "Did you guys look up what I eat and what I wear to bed?" Looking back at the screen, he kept working, but nodded. "Yeah. Brother. You got any? Brothers, sisters?" Deflecting. That was one way to make sure they moved into a safer area. "Irritating cousins, anything?"

"No," she shook her head. "I always wished for a sister..." she paused wistfully before giving another shake of her head. She wondered how things might have been different if Irina and Jack had had another child. Would it have made a difference? "But no. My parents aren't exactly... typical. Another kid would have complicated things for them even more." Sydney also knew both Dean's parents were deceased so she didn't bring them up. "And no, I don't know what you wear to bed. But I'd guess boxers over briefs," she said flashing a dimpled smile hoping to lighten the mood. "By the way, I assume you know how to dance. We'll need to blend in at the gala..."

He was glad when she moved on, but also sensed she had things she didn't want to talk about. Yeah he knew about complicated parents. "Good guess." He looked over at her. "Dance?" Making a face, he added. "Let's keep that to a minimum, as in none, if possible." 

He didn't like the glint in her eyes, not even a little, but he had to admit her smile was deadly, it had to be because he was smiling back and getting the feeling he was signing his own death warrant. "Got a bad leg. Serious case of no rhythm. I'll make you look real bad." Every time he tossed out an excuse, her smile broadened. "You're gonna make my life miserable, aren't you?" Shaking his head, he looked at the monitor. "Let's try biblical references... makes sense, right? I mean with going to the Vatican."

"Biblical references, right..." she said with a slight roll of her eyes. As far as she was concerned, they were just killing time until they heard from Vaughn. "Come on, you are not going to embarrass me tonight." Sydney stood up and tugged at Dean's arm. "I'll just show you a few steps." She moved over to the CD player and put on some orchestral music. "Look," she tilted her head and gave him a look and held out her hands. "If you're going to play at the spy game, you've got to blend..."

He used the search function script that Sam had written, setting it to give an alarm tone after it scoured all biblical sources and gathered them in one place. Dropping the lap top onto the bed, he got up and walked toward her, putting his hand out to take hers. "Why do I get the feeling this is payback for kicking your ass?" He didn't add that it was a fine ass, or that he might have agreed to this readily because the thought of holding her in his arms was real appealing. They'd been having a damned good time before she'd pulled her spy tactics on him, but he wasn't about to hold a grudge. Not when he hadn't been this interested or felt as alive around a woman, in a long time. It wasn't all about how she looked either, though that was a big factor. It was more about the challenge, the fire, the excitement that she seemed to stir up in him, whether they were wrestling, kissing or sparring with words, trying to show each other who knew more, who would be the first to figure things out.

"Anybody who can fight like you, can dance like Fred Astaire," she laughed at the doubtful look he gave her. "Seriously," she moved in closer and positioned one hand around his back and held his other hand up. She bit her lower lip and looked down at their feet as his hand came to a firm rest at the small of her back. Forcing herself to focus, she looked back up and met his eyes.

"Okay. So you already know how to sense your opponent's moves three steps ahead, right? Dancing is no different," she started to move in a basic waltz and wasn't surprised when he glided easily keeping step as she led him around the room. "That's good..." she tilted her head and beamed up at him. "Now you lead. You just have to trust that I can anticipate where you're going."

It wasn't like he’ never had to dance, even in formal dress. He just hadn't done it in a long while, not since that high society event he'd had to go to with Bella. Then again, Sam had been the one who'd had the raw end of that deal. Thinking about it had him laughing at Sam’s discomfort, and missing the faces he made.

"Having tangled with you, I _know_ you can," Dean answered, letting her hand and rubbing his jaw meaningfully, before he spun her around. He knew he wasn't an elegant dancer, nor would he ever be. But she more than made up for his lack of grace and could made him 'look good.' "So, Agent Bristow, what makes a girl grow up and want to play ball for the CIA? Is it getting the bad guys, even when they're really the good guys?" Seeing the flash in her eyes, he continued in a more serious tone, "No really, I want to know."

Sydney's eyes softened and she lifted her shoulder in a shrug. "I guess I was attracted to the excitement of it all..." she said thinking back to that day when she'd first been approached about training. "At the time, I had no idea then that I'd been groomed for this my whole life..." the words were out before she realized what she'd just shared, but oddly, she didn't regret it. "I guess we have something in common after all," she angled her head and looked at him out of the corner of her eye as they moved together around the open area of the suite.

It was his turn to give her a hard look, at least initially. Sensing she meant it, that even if there was a world of difference between them, they had a common experience, a hell of a big one, he unbent a little and accepted what she said. "Family business?" He already knew her father was CIA so he didn't need her answer. "Did it help? Thinking it was your own choice?" It always came down to Sam. Dean had never had a choice, but Sam had tried. Later, Sam thought it was his choice to go back to hunting. 

Blinking away the past, Dean searched her face, looking for answers and swallowing at the depth of emotion he saw in her eyes. 

After a moment of thought, Sydney found herself nodding. "Yeah... I guess I liked thinking I was in control of my life. Now..." she tried to shrug off everything Irina and Jack had put her through, but frustration sparked in her eyes. "Now, I just don't know. Sometimes I feel like a pawn in my parents’ chess game." The truth of her words felt heavy, but speaking them aloud somehow lightened her load.

She drew in a cleansing breath and found herself drifting closer until their bodies touched. He was warm and she felt safe in his arms. And how the hell had that happened? He was practically the enemy. But right now... the way he was looking at her... not so much. 

"How about you?" she asked. "You ever consider doing something different with your life? Accounting...? Airline pilot?" she teased lightly before catching his eyes and holding his gaze. "What do you think you'd be doing right now if you weren't chasing monsters?"

"You ask complicated questions." And yet he wanted to answer her, wanted to give a piece of himself. A truth. "I've played a lot of parts. FBI, CIA, exterminator, fireman, desk jockey," he gave a wince. "But once I dreamed I was a mechanic. Regular life, nine to five, girlfriend, the whole nine yards. "Turned out I was drugged and being bled to death and that it was an induced dream, so I wouldn't fight the bleeding." He gave a sniff, "story of my life. It's not good, it's not bad, it just is... you know?"

Tightening his hold on her for a moment, he missed a step, then recovered. "Truth is, if I weren't out there hunting monsters, I'd be drinking myself to death and thinking about hunting, or feeling guilty about not hunting." There was a silence, but it wasn't awkward, not like he'd expected. He didn't even realize he was doing it, but he rested his forehead against hers, slightly to the side, and continued to step in time with the music, forgetting how much he hated to dance.

Instinctively, the agent closed her eyes and relaxed against him as she listened to the cadence of his voice and steady beat of his heart. But instead of assessing the authenticity of his story like her training should have dictated, she found herself connecting on an emotional level -- beginning to understand him in an entirely new light. He'd endured horrors because of a life he didn't choose, but had a solid sense of who he was. Underneath all that cocky bravado there was a man with depth and complex motivations. He'd let down his guard to allow her a glimpse of his inner truth and in turn, her own defenses were starting to crumble

When he fell silent, Sydney's hand moved to Dean's chest and she drew back to look into fathomless green eyes. They were barely moving now as the pounding of her heart drowned out the music. Full red lips parted as if she were about to speak, but there were no words to express what she was feeling in that moment.

He didn't see sympathy or disbelief in her eyes. He wasn't sure it was acceptance, either, but at gut level, it felt like for one moment in time, the layers of masks upon masks and games of pretend, dropped away. He could see clear to her soul and it was a distorted reflection of himself. Words were inadequate. Sometimes they tripped you or fucked things up. No way he was risking it. 

Sliding his hands up her body, he gently gripped her upper arms and leaned in, slanting his mouth over hers. His eyes closed as he gave her long, lingering kiss. He'd barely moved against her and hadn't invaded her mouth with his tongue, yet his blood was catching fire. She was potent, and dangerous, and just what he needed. Just what he wanted right now. 

Sydney was accustomed to being in complete control when she was on the job, but the tender brush of Dean's lips was her complete undoing. Abandoning her double-agent persona, she kissed him back, shy and almost tentative at first -- as if she were afraid to acknowledge that he'd sparked the fire that had been quietly smoldering since she'd first laid eyes on him.

Pulling slightly back, he locked gazes with her for a fraction of a moment, then dipped his head down and kissed his way up her throat as she tilted her head back. Sweeping his lips over the contours of her chin, he sought out the heat of her mouth again, this time pushing his tongue past her teeth and tangling it with hers in a dance that was neither competition nor war.

In stark contrast to her mastery of playing the seductress, Sydney was downright modest when it came down to her own personal virtues. Still, even as Dean took her breath away, she boldly moved her hand to the back of his head to deepen the kiss, surrendering to the sensations his touch ignited. As he pulled her closer, she was jolted back to awareness by an alarm sounding from laptop on the bed behind them.

Breaking the kiss and instantly on alert, Sydney spun to see the screen flashing the search results from the query Dean had run. Danger reflex was quickly replaced by embarrassment with the realization of what she'd almost done. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered, cheeks blooming to bright crimson revealing a bashful side rarely seen by those outside of her closest circle of friends. "I didn't mean to do... that was unprofessional."

"No apologies needed. As far as I'm concerned, you can be _unprofessional_ with me anytime you like," he answered with an amused grin as he tried to work out how someone with the nerve to perform a pole dance in front of a rough audience and who didn't blink at using her sex appeal as a weapon could get this flustered by just a kiss. Her reaction was real though, and that was part of the reason he didn't tease her more. 

Pronounced dimples bracketed her mouth as she tried to suppress the smile his offer elicited. She was grateful he didn't make a big deal out of it and was impressed at how easily he was able to shift right back into the work. If she hadn't seen that glimpse behind the curtain of bravado, Sydney might have thought he'd just brushed it off as just another conquest interrupted, but she sensed the kiss had meant something to him too.

Picking the lap top up off the bed, Dean brought it to the desk so they could both easily look at the screen as he started to scroll down the results from his specially designated sites. Slowing down on a couple possibilities and noting them, he suddenly enlarged the picture and text on the screen and dropped down to sit on a chair. "Sonovabitch."

"What?" she leaned closer to read the caption under the illustration that looked as if it had been scanned from an ancient text. "Balthazar?" she read the name. She straightened and turned to Dean, her eyes unconsciously dropping to his mouth and tracing the shape of his lips. Suddenly acutely aware of how close she was, she quickly shifted her focus back to the laptop as she edged out of his personal space and took a deep breath. She never should have kissed him. He was a distraction now... a liability. This was bad.

"Says he's an angel," she said with sturdy resolve. "I thought you specialized in demons. You think he has something to do with the spear?"

"Sometimes the line between angels and demons..." he grit his teeth and looked up at her. "Lucifer. Satan, whatever you want to call him, he was one of the angels before he was thrown out and became the king of hell, so to speak." She probably wouldn't believe half the things he told her, but he wanted her to. It shouldn't matter whether she thought he was a nut job or not, and he hadn't cared just a day ago. 

"About eight months ago, you remember the news being full of disasters? Volcanoes erupting, earthquakes, whole towns disappearing, rivers turning to blood, people dying of unknown diseases, that kind of thing?" He drew in a breath. "That was...it came down to the last fight between good and evil. It was the start of the apocalypse, and yeah, I do mean 'end of the world' stuff. Angels were involved, demons, us," he gave a small shrug. "I guess we won." He looked away, then down. "Anyway, haven't seen or heard from any angels since then. Figured they were done with whatever they thought needed doing but this... Balthazar, it doesn't give me any warm fuzzy feelings, the fact that an angel might be involved." 

Sydney' brow furrowed as she pulled her fingers through her hair. "Wait. So you're saying heaven and hell..." she looked at Dean and saw he wasn't kidding around. "Right. Okay. Heaven and Hell - not just biblical metaphors then? Right..." she nodded, forcing herself to expand her thinking. She paused thoughtfully, tilting her head as she looked at the image of the angel on the monitor. Fallen Angel. Something clicked.

"So... if the Apocalypse is real too... then that means the Four Horsemen... and... hey. This is going to sound crazy..." As Sydney grew more animated, she closed the distance she'd deliberately created between herself and Dean. "Okay, well, maybe not crazy to you. But, have you ever heard of Milo Rambaldi? He was this genius inventor. Some people say he was a prophet like Nostradamus..." she paused, holding her breath as she decided how much to tell him. 

He'd hoped that she wouldn't laugh, but this he hadn't foreseen. It was clear she did believe and even knew a little about what he was talking about. "Can't say I have but if you've got something..." He leaned back slightly, so he could look up into her face instead of inappropriate areas that might get his ass kicked.

"Maybe..." she bit her lower lip, searching her memory for something that was hanging just out of reach. "I don't know. Might be nothing. But there was this one prophecy... I always got the impression it was referring to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Of course I never considered it was a literal interpretation since Rambaldi was so big into cryptology. But maybe... let's see. It goes 'When blood-red horses wander the streets and angels fall from the sky, the _Chosen One_ and the _Passenger_ will clash... and only one will survive.'"

Sydney paused, mentally dismissing the notion that she was the Chosen One as both her father and Sloan seemed to think. "SD-6 seems to think the spear is one of Rambaldi's artifacts - or at least related somehow." She shrugged a little sheepishly. "What do you think?"

Dean literally flinched at what she called a prophesy. "Pretty much that," he said quietly, getting up and walking around her to sit on the edge of the desk. 

"SD-6, is that a department? What do they have on the spear? Are you saying this Rambaldi created it, that it wasn't actually used during the crucification? What time period are we talking about with this Rambaldi dude?" He tried to keep his voice even but his mind was in a turmoil. Someone had predicted what would happen to Sam? He'd been Lucifer's chosen one, and Lucifer had been his passenger. He had no idea what the prophesy meant when it stated one of them _survived_ , could it mean one of them... Sam or Lucifer... would be brought back? Or that Sam was gone. Dead, both body and soul.

The look of torment that tore across Dean's features at the mention of the prophecy erased all doubts about telling him about SD-6. She'd obviously touched on something very personal. If he was somehow caught up in all of this, he had a right to know. "SD-6 is an underground criminal organization. _Deep_ underground," she emphasized. "It was founded by a former CIA counterintelligence officer."

How could she possibly help him understand what he'd gotten himself into? Searching his eyes for understanding, Sydney spoke with quiet earnest. "You know those volcanoes and rivers of blood you were talking about? Well, you remember the Bangalore carbon proxy disaster in 1992 that killed three thousand innocent people in India? It wasn't an accidental methyl isocyanate leak at the manufacturer plant. And in 1996, the Japanese bullet train that _accidentally_ switched tracks and derailed... not so accidental. Chernobyl..." she sighed. "Well, you get the picture. That was all SD-6 to further their power."

Before she spoke again, Sydney's eyes flashed with determination. "I'm a double-agent. SD-6 thinks I work for them. CIA is trying to take them down. I _will_ take them down." She knew she hadn't answered his questions, but for some reason it was important to her that he understand why she was doing what she was doing.

"Double agent." He ran his hand over his face. "It only gets more complicated, doesn't it?" Searching her eyes, he gave a nod. "SD-6, they know about this Rambaldi guy, about the spear, maybe other things... artifacts you called them. Anyone who wants power would be after the spear. Bad guys.” He licked his lips. “Looks like we're in the same line of business, after all, Detective Bristow. How about I help you take down this SD-6 of yours, and you help me get the spear. I keep the spear," he clarified, locking gazes with her. 

If Sydney was startled by the proposal, it didn't show on her features as her brown eyes clashed with green. "Why? What do _you_ plan to do with it?" 

He stared right back at her for a long moment, a muscle in his jaw throbbing. "I'm gonna get my brother back. Lucifer is the passenger. He was riding Sam's body when Sam... Sam jumped into a cage that Lucifer can't get out of. My brother is trapped in that hell with him. Not for a lifetime. Not for ten or a hundred lifetimes. _Forever._ I can't let that happen. I won't. I think the spear can bring him back, can make that prophesy you just told me come true. Doesn't it make sense, in some crazy, twisted, fucked up way? You need to get it away from SD-6, I need it to get Sam, we run into each other. Maybe you're supposed to help me. Maybe it's your destiny." No, he didn't believe in destiny, but he spoke the words with conviction. They were the right words, for the right time.

Sydney took a step back as if retreating from the flood of information that lapped at her feet and threatened to drag her under. "Lucifer? As in... the Devil? Was riding... Oh God..." the agent shook her head as she mentally sifted through all the facts in the context of her new insights into the supernatural. 

Slowly the shake of her head turned to a nod as she brought her eyes back to Dean. "Yes. I guess it does make sense in some crazy, twisted effed-up way," she said in echo of his conclusion. Again she scrubbed her hand through her tousled brunette locks. "Okay. Yeah. If it can get your brother back and we keep it out of the hands of SD-6..." she nodded again, jaw set in firm resolve as she looked at him. "Maybe it's destiny." 

***

"First class plane tickets, now first class cars... this is an eye opener on government," Dean said as he negotiated the narrow road and turned on a dime before the cross traffic made it into the intersection. The concierge at the hotel had arranged for the Mercedes rental to be brought to the hotel and had reminded Dean that "in Italy, you have to drive aggressively." Like he hadn't noticed on the ride from the airport to the hotel. Still, he'd take his chances on the road a lot quicker than in the air. Just thinking about that flight almost had him break out in a sweat.

At the next light, he glanced over at Sydney, his lips curving into a smile as his gaze roved up her creamy thigh. The long, candy red silk dress she wore, had a deep slit over one thigh, clung to her curves and surprisingly covered her all the way to her neck. Earlier, when he'd raised his brows when she was getting dressed, she'd said the gold embroidered stand up collar was an Asian inspired neckline. He really hadn't been looking for that kind of detail on style and she knew it, but once she'd pulled the dress on and the silk fell against her body, he had to admit his breath had caught in his chest and he'd wanted to pull her close, run his hands over her bare arms and see if he could get her to agree to be late to the party. She could read right through him, though, and right there, that ‘all-business’ look had entered her eyes and he'd known better than to try to distract her.

Didn't mean he couldn't admire her looks, or notice the looks she was drawing from men in other cars. It might all be fake, but he did feel like a damned lucky guy right now. It was a feeling he'd lost for a long time. 

"Stop practicing your sexpionage on that kid... it's not age appropriate," Dean tossed, knowing full well she hadn't encouraged the teenager to gesture and shout he loved her. " _Amore my ass...._ ," he muttered, scowling at the kid.

Once they entered Vatican City, the navigation system alerted them in cultured tones to turn once again. There it was, the Palazzo di Cardinal Raphael. They drove through an open elaborate gate and slowed down behind luxury cars making their way around the large driveway in the courtyard of the ancient palace. The front of the building was lined with thick pillars, behind it the walls were white and coral marble in various patterns. "In my next life, remind me to go for a government job, or to be a priest." His gaze flicked to a group of robed men walking into the building, together with people who'd just come out of the Ferrari in front of the building right before the valet took the vehicle away.

"A priest? Really?" Sydney gave him a speculative look. "I'm pretty sure that would go against the laws of natural selection _and_ intelligent design," she smirked before her expression turned more serious. "Now come on. Focus. We don't want to draw any unnecessary attention. We've got a lot riding on this..." His brother. Was there really a chance? True resurrection? Was this the secret Sloan was hell-bent on unlocking? 

He gave her a nod as they drove up to the front of the building and stopped. "Show time."

Two valets approached, opening each of their doors and giving Dean a ticket. He slipped it into the inside pocket of his tux, put his hand on Sydney's back and started to walk with her over the red carpet and into the building. It was a big fundraising event and there were socialites and big wigs. Dean didn't really recognize them, but knew them for what they were for. He gave their event tickets to a suited man that was collecting them, and then they were allowed into the reception room, or the ballroom of the palace. 

The room was enormous, the ceilings so high that the large paintings and ornate molding looked like they belonged there and didn't look the least bit gaudy. "Guess that's one thing The Venetian’s got wrong." At her look, he explained. "The Venetian... you know, hotel in Vegas. Never liked all the gold and paintings on the ceilings there. Kind of crowded you.... never mind."

There was an orchestra in one corner of the room. Drinks and appetizers were being circulated and Dean couldn't let a tray go by without grabbing and stuffing his mouth. "Mmm, these are the best puff pastry things I've never had before," he said, not recognizing the taste. His gaze skimmed over the clusters of people talking and schmoozing, and the robed priests, looking more closely at the ones in red, trying to find Cardinal Pietro.

The double-agent's gaze broke from her instinctual visual assessment of their surroundings to take in the sight of Dean scarfing down finger foods like he hadn't eaten in days. She rolled her eyes and looped her arm through his before he could accost the next server. She had to admit that he looked damn good in the tuxedo, but truth be told, as much as she loved the excitement of her job, she'd much rather be curled up on an old couch eating pizza and watching Casablanca. Maybe once this was all done...

Sydney's mind wandered for a moment before Dean's elbow brought her back to the mission. Her eyes followed his across the dance floor to a tall man in a robe who fit the Cardinal's basic description, but it wasn't until he turned toward them that she was able to make visual confirmation. "That's him. Let's go." She started to move toward him when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized all too well. "Sark," she hissed, her entire body tensing. "What are you doing here?"

"A pleasure to see you as well, Miss Bristow," Julian Sark answered with a honeyed English accent as he took her hand and kissed it.

Sydney jerked her hand away, but when she saw they were drawing looks, she schooled her features and forced a smile. "What do you want?" she said quietly.

"I'd very much like a dance," he answered with a pointed look to the ape on her arm. "So we can speak privately." 

Dean didn't know what was going on between the two of them, but he instantly disliked the guy. Besides, she didn't seem to be happy to see him either. "If you wanted to dance, you should have brought your own date. If you've got something to talk about, then talk. I'm not listening. I'm sorta hard of hearing." 

The slightest hint of a smirk pulled at the corner of Sydney's mouth before she clamped down on it and turned a steely expression on Sark. As much as she loathed the idea of dealing with the man, his presence here was no coincidence. He knew something about the spear and she needed to know what.

Touching Dean's hand on her arm, Sydney looked up at him through thick lashes. "It's okay. I'll just be a minute." Then back to Sark, she raised her chin and leveled him with a no-nonsense glare. "You have exactly one dance." 

"I'll be watching, and there's nothing wrong with my eyes," Dean said a little broodily. He wasn't thrilled with this, but playing it out in his mind, he knew there was no way he could stop her from going on that dance floor with creepy-smarmy guy. 

"Your agency must be... hard up, judging by the new recruits," Sark said in a silky tone, completely ignoring Dean's existence as he swept Sidney onto the dance floor, taking her into his arms and expertly maneuvering her between the other dancers. 

"Just get to the point," Sydney said as she fell easily into step with his graceful movements. At least he didn't know about Dean, or if he did, he was playing it close to the vest. "Who are you working for?" It was a pointless question, really. Julian Sark was a man of notoriously flexible loyalties and worked only for his own self-interest. Still, it seemed like a good place to start. 

"Always straight to the point. Why don't you loosen up?" He moved his hand lower down her back, part of his palm resting intimately on her firm ass. "Enjoy the perks when you get them." His gaze swept over the crowd, then came back to meet hers. "At least smile or they'll think this is an inquisition instead of a friendly dance."

Sydney constructed a tight smile as her hand lowered to his arm to force it up to her lower back as he guided her around the floor. The man was too smooth for his own good and she wasn't about to let her guard down for a moment. "I would hardly consider this a perk. Now what do you want. You're wasting my time." 

"Well, if you want to get down to business... I want your blood." He studied her face.

Caught in a rare moment of surprise, Sydney blinked and her entire body tensed in response to the memory of the Death Lord that had suddenly sprouted three rows of teeth with the intent of feeding on her blood. She quickly realized it was ridiculous to think Sark was a vampire and she schooled her features to ask the obvious question. "Why?" 

"Because the evil overlord I made the mistake of dealing with wants it. Exactly two vials." He let that sink in. "And you know why he wants it, or you wouldn't be here yourself. Now how close are you to finding it?" Seeing her mouth flatten into a straight line, Sark tightened his grip on her. "Listen to me. We're on the same side here, I don't want him to get it or your blood. I want him off my tail. Only way that's going to happen is if you find it, or I give him what he wants. One of those two things _will_ happen. Which is it going to be?"

Sydney wasn't foolish enough to believe Sark was on anybody's side but his own, however his claim did have a ring of truth. He wouldn't hesitate to switch allegiances to save his own skin. "Apparently your intel is better than mine or your evil overlord is yanking your chain," the agent moved her hand up his arm as she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Tell me what my blood has to do with the spear or you're on your own." 

"You really don't know?" A calculating look entered his eyes. "What..." Using one finger, he brushed her hair back from her forehead, "is that information worth to you?"

Sydney ducked away from his finger and gave him a sharp look. "As it stands, your currency has no value. For all I know, you're making this up. Tell me what you know and then we'll talk." 

"Why are you always so difficult," he said almost petulantly. "Fine. The people I'm dealing with want a spear. _The spear_ , and I know you know what I'm talking about," he said pointedly. "The things the spear can do, the power it wields... I don't know whether to believe in it, but I can say the people after it have no need for more power." He gave a shudder, tightened his grip on her and twirled her around the dance floor. "Your friend has an attitude problem," he tossed out as they passed Dean, turning her around so her back was to her glaring partner. 

"Where was I, yes the spear. I was told your blood is needed to make it work." He gave an elegant shrug. "It doesn't matter that it’s a ridiculous notion, what matters is that they believe it's real. They have the manpower and resources to get it from..." he nodded toward a group of red clad cardinals. "And once they have it, you come into play. There, I've told you everything. Satisfied?"

Sydney's mind whirled through the information, her brows furrowed in concentration until Sark stopped talking. "My blood... that _is_ ridiculous, but you're right, it doesn't matter if that's what they think." The agent had no idea what would possess them to think her blood had anything to do with anything, but she couldn't puzzle out a reason for Sark to make that up. "If they have the means to get the spear, surely they don't need you to get my blood. Why send you after me?" She tilted her head and looked up at him. "Not like I'm defenseless to your charm..." she flashed a dimpled smile. 

"Something about professional courtesy and not getting Castiel... whoever that is... up in arms. You have a protector." Seeing her blank look, he shook his head. "When do you ever know who you're _actually_ working for? Anyway, that's the reason _himself_ is not dealing with you directly." His eyes darted around the room. "What do you, or this Castiel, want with it?"

The double-agent had no idea who Castiel was, but her expression hinted at the opposite. She didn't need Sark to have any more leverage than he did. "If your stake in the game is to get this _evil overlord_ off your back, then you don't need to know the answer to that." She moved her hips and adjusted her step sidle up a little closer. "But if you want to guarantee that I have the winning hand, you'll need to show me your cards." Her eyes slid to the cardinals and then back to fix on Sark's striking blue gaze. "How do we get ahead of them?"

"Clever, not that I ever doubted it." If he didn't think Sydney could be a step ahead of Balthazar, he'd never bet on her getting the upper hand over his temporary employer. "You're wasting your time here. It's not here, the spear. It's a fake. You have to find the real one and... l'll be stealing the fake one." Seeing sparks of disbelief shooting out of her eyes, he gave her a wounded look. "Tomorrow. I have obtained permission for a viewing tomorrow and I’ll take it then. That gives you tonight, but you'll be wasting precious time having a look, see, at it tonight. Instead, find out where the real spear is and get it before Bal... before _himself_ gets it first.” He assumed she’d leave the spear alone once she confirmed it wasn’t real. “Then, when the spear I take him turns out to be a fake, I'll be off the hook because it'll be too late, you and your Castiel will have it. My bargain will have been met." He'd agreed to steal the item and get her blood, the latter would no longer be necessary if the real spear never made it to Balthazar and his low class bike riding gang of thugs. He'd met the man over champagne at an exclusive casino in Monte Carlo. He'd never have guessed that the man mixed with certain elements, nor that the man had eyes everywhere and resources that seemed to rival that of several governments Sark dealt with. 

Sydney's eyes flashed with recognition when he'd started to reveal the name of his employer, Balthazar. And while she still didn't entirely trust Sark's motives, she believed it was currently in his best interests for her to locate the true artifact. It was entirely possible that he was just trying to get her to do his dirty work, but they could cross that bridge when they came to it. "Alright," she agreed with a slight nod and glance over to Dean. She didn't like involving a civilian in whatever Sark might have up his sleeve, but somehow she knew Dean was more than equipped to handle it. 

"And now if you'll excuse me," Sydney said in a cultured accent, mouth pulled into a coy smile. "I've got a job to do." 

"Of course. Or else I'll see you in a few days," he said, dipping his head and stealing a kiss where she could do nothing about it. "Buona notte, bella."

Arms crossed, Dean waited for her to approach. "You don't recognize your own techniques? Seriously?" he demanded, not thrilled by her high color and wondering whether she fell for whatever the guy's line had been.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sydney answered, dimples serving as accents that punctuated the fresh flush of her cheeks when she saw that Dean actually appeared to be jealous. "Besides, for the price of a dance and that kiss he stole, I got new intel and that's all that matters. We need to verify it, of course, but I think it's legit."

Dean made a decidedly grumpy sound, but leaned in to listen. Wanting to think the worst of Sark, he asked, "and what makes you think he's not sending you on a wild goose chase so he can get at the spear himself."

"Because he's not sending us anywhere," she answered with a one-shouldered shrug, acutely aware of how close Dean's face was to her lips and how good he smelled. _Focus._ "He says the spear they have here is a fake and if that's true, we're basically back to square one unless we find another lead. I'm pretty sure he's working for Balthazar and is looking to get out from under his thumb, so he's giving us a day's head start so we can beat him to it. Normally I'd be more suspicious, but Sark doesn't really like to be anybody's lackey and it sounds like this angel of yours - if that's really what he is - has him over a barrel. He mentioned someone named Castiel..." she turned her head to look at Dean. "Ring any bells?" 

"Cas? Yeah, I know him. Fought on the same side. After we caged Lucifer, I guess he was finished with playing on our team." He gave a shrug and tried to hide his bitterness. "He's an angel. Better than the others, at least he was for a while." It had taken Dean a long while to give up on Castiel, but after calling on him again and again, asking for help with Sam, he'd quit trying. "Must have better things to do in heaven and can't be bothered with us humans anymore." He cocked his head, " is that all he said about Cas?"

"Not really," Sydney thought back to the conversation. "I think he knows who you are though, since he seems to think you're working for Castiel." She eyed him carefully. "You aren't... are you?" 

"I told you, I haven't seen him. And before you ask, no, I never worked _for_ him." Her gaze held his, like she didn't believe him. "Look, I told you, we worked together. Everyone was against us, heaven, hell, you name it. They were all hot for an apocalypse, people be damned. Castiel stepped up to the plate and fought with us, chose our side... the human side, then when it was over, he took off. It's the truth," he said, "all of it." 

Sensing the anger and hurt in his voice, Sydney's eyes softened and she touched his arm. It all came back to his brother. "I believe you," she said almost apologetically. She knew she'd touched a raw nerve and she wanted to soothe it over. "We'll find the spear... we'll get your brother back," she said meeting his gaze with heartfelt promise in her eyes. 

He gave her a tight lipped nod. "Who needs angels, right?" The pure determination in her sparkling eyes eased his tension. Putting his hand on the small of her back, he started to guide her through the crowd. "The guys in red seem to hang together," he said nodding at a group of cardinals in their red robes. ”It’s nice. They add color.” 

After searching their faces, he tapped one of the Cardinals on the shoulder.

"Si?" The man turned around.

"Sorry, wrong guy." Without explaining further, Dean moved away. "This father Pietro is gonna be harder to find than I thought. They all look alike..." 

With a sigh, Sydney hung back and drew the cardinal's attention, speaking in fluent Italian to ask about Father Pietro. Within moments, he was escorting them through the crowd and introducing them as Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, American archaeologists. Making with the proper formalities, the agent greeted the cardinal. 

"Come può essere?!" The father exclaimed in surprise when his eyes landed on Dean. "Pardon me. Ehh... yes. In English," he shook his head, his eyes fixed on Dean as if he'd seen a ghost. "But... how can it be?" 

Sydney knew that Vaughn had paved the way for their visit to the archives by explaining to the cardinal that they were an important research team and had somehow pulled the right strings to get them a viewing of the Spear of Longinus. But she hadn't expected that they would have provided photo identification so that fact that the Father seemed to recognize Dean took her by surprise. Recognizing that it was possible he knew Dean from his previous... activities, Sydney braced herself and prepared to improvise. 

"I'm sorry Father. What do you mean? How can _what_ be?" Sydney asked politely. 

With some effort, Father Pietro pulled his eyes from Dean. "He... he is L'uomo scelto." 

Dean just barely managed to rein in his ‘what the fuck is that?’

Sydney's brows pulled into a frown. "The Chosen?" 

"Si, si," he nodded enthusiastically. "I have studied the pages. I would know that face in my dreams." 

Turning to Dean, Sydney arched a questioning brow. "Something you forgot to mention...?" 

"No... no way he's dreaming about me," Dean raised his hands up as if seeking protection from that thought. "I thought they did the whole celibac-- Oww," he glared at Syd, his shin throbbing from her excellent aim.

Sydney sighed and turned back to the cardinal. "Can you explain what you mean, Father?" 

The cardinal looked like he was trying to find the words, ultimately shaking his head in exasperation. "Come... come with me." He nodded to the two Americans and guided them out of the main reception area and into an anti-chamber. 

"For a little guy, he sure walks fast," Dean said, earning a jab of her elbow in his side. "What? It's not like he's got super sharp ears," he complained as they rushed after the man who took them through several interconnected rooms. Then they were in a large library surrounded by walls of books on shelves that went all the way up to the very high ceilings painted with images of angels and biblical scenes. Well, one thing Dean was glad about was that he wasn't a book-shelver for these guys.

The priest went to the ornate marble fireplace and touched a statue on the mantle. They turned toward the creaking sound coming from behind them. A wall of books shifted out of the way.

"This way," Father Pietro told them, stepping into the hidden passage, turning the light on and starting down a narrow spiral staircase. 

"Like that's not cliché.'" 

She shouldn't really be surprised, but Sydney had to admit this all seemed pretty cloak and dagger for the Vatican. Maybe the Da Vinci Code wasn't so much fiction after all. With a slight shrug, she tilted her head at him. "You're the Chosen One. How cliché is _that_?" she pointed out before starting down the stairs after him. She hadn't yet told Dean that she'd been given the very same title by Rambaldi himself, making it even that more cliché. And weird. 

"Unless we're talking the lottery, I wish somebody up there would stop choosing me," he muttered, meaning every word. "Watch out for trap doors. There are always trap doors in places like this," he said authoritatively, then added, "at least in the movies. Ever seen ‘The Mummy? How about...."


	5. Chapter 5

They went down quite a ways, and then Father Pietri pushed a low metal grate door open, bent over and stepped through it. Dean followed, holding the door open for Syd, then letting it clang shut. 

From where they were standing, the metal was covered in gold leaf. The cardinal hit several switches on the wall, and one by one, various sets of lights came on. The place was literally as large as an underground football field. 

There were shelves of books, glass topped tables with artifacts under the glass, and work tables with items on them... books and paintings and other things... in various states of repair. There were also aisles of tall drafting tables and sheaves of dusty manuscripts. 

"This way."

Taking Syd's hand, Dean followed.

There was a sharp intake of breath as Sydney took in the unexpected scale of the place. She gave Dean a look and lifted her brows as they continued down through the archives trailing a few steps behind the cardinal. 

"Father, we'd like to see the spear..." Sydney said, wanting to make sure nothing derailed their original mission. They both had the means to verify the authenticity of the artifact, though Dean claimed he'd be able to tell instantly, where Sydney would have to wait for lab results. She might just have to trust him on this one. 

"Si, si," the cardinal nodded, his robes swishing around his feet as he took a quick turn into the stacks before finally coming to a stop in front of a glass case displaying what appeared to be pages from a manuscript. It wasn't until the agent approached and peered into the glass that she sucked in a sharp breath at what she saw. 

"L'uomo scelto," he said triumphantly as he turned to Dean with a grand gesture. 

"That's you!" Sydney said with surprise as she studied the pencil drawing of Dean on the yellowed page of the manuscript. And what was more, she knew exactly where it had come from. The style was unmistakable. "That's from the Rambaldi Manuscript," she hissed at Dean. "What are _you_ doing in the Rambaldi Manuscript?" 

The denial hot on his lips was cut short when Dean saw what they were talking about. There was a sketch of his face, right there, on the manuscript, with tiny handwriting next to it. He stared at it for another moment, then looked over at the priest. "That's not me. It's the Archangel Michael."

Father Pietro let out an anxious laugh and shook his head. "No, no, I think not. You are L'uomo scelto." He made a sweeping gesture to an elaborate mosaic against the far wall depicting The Prayer of Saint Michael. "That is Saint Michael. This..." he gestured back to the manuscript and looked at Dean almost reverently "This is you. L'uomo scelto." 

"It sure looks like you," Sydney agreed with a tilt of her head. She made a subtle gesture to her wrist to cue Dean to distract the father while she took some high res pictures with the camera in her bracelet. She wanted to be able to translate the script and she was pretty sure the Cardinal wasn't going to let them walk out with it. 

"That's Mike? You sure about that?" Dean put his hand on the cardinal's back and wheeled him around. "So you don't think his profile and mine.... huh. Is that painting by--"

"It's a mosaic."

"Mosaic. Right." Yeah, he was so interested in Michael, he hadn’t even noticed it wasn’t a painting. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Syd was done with her spy stuff. "So, any idea what the chosen one's been chosen for?" He asked as she joined them and they started walking again. "And who wrote that stuff up?"

"If you are interested, I can set up an appointment with someone who has studied the manuscripts closely, I am sure he would like to meet you."

"That won't be necessary," Sydney interjected, confident she had the resources to translate the text in short order. Marshall would already be working on it. "May we see the Spear of Longinus now please Father?" she asked politely. She was starting to get antsy. If Sark was telling the truth, they didn't have much time to find their lead on the real spear. 

"Si, of course." The Cardinal started off again through the aisles until they came to an area filled with swords and other ancient weaponry. There was a crate sitting on the floor that had been opened, but not unpacked. "Apologies. It's only just arrived. We haven't had time to make it ready." 

Dean crouched down to take a look at the unremarkable old spear laying on a bed of simple straw. There was a tag on it. Taking a look at the neat handwriting in Italian, he gave a shrug. The words meant nothing to him. 

As planned, Syd managed to keep the Cardinal busy by talking to him. Even if Dean didn't know what she was saying to him in Italian, he imagined she was drizzling compliments over the man and flirting like hell. The man might be a priest but he was still a man and susceptible to her sexpionage.

Dean had to admit he was glad Syd was on board with testing the spear because even if she'd been against it, he wouldn't have taken the word of her slick, smarmy friend. What if Sark hadn't been able to steal it and wanted them to leave it behind to get his grimy hands on it later? Hell no, Dean hadn't gotten this close to reach his goal of getting what might be Sam's only chance out of the cage, only to be duped by some champagne-sipping dick in a monkey suit.

Lifting the spear up and partly out of the crate, he started to whisper the words of the rite he'd memorized. If this was the true spear of Longinus that had been bathed in the blood of Christ, it would reveal itself as such. As he spoke, he put his hand under the flap of his tux jacket and searched in his pocked. A moment later, he was flicking his lighter and holding the flame under the shaft. " _sanctum lanceam, ostende te!_ " 

Instead of the word " _veritas_ " appearing on the shaft, the shaft caught fire. "Aw crap!" Dean started to bat at the fire but the straw under the shaft caught fire and before he could take his jacket off to beat it out, all sorts of alarms were going off around them. A red light was flashing and unintelligible chatter could be heard over the PA system. "That can't be good..."

"Holy crap!" Sydney blurted with wide eyes as the entire box engulfed in flame. The Cardinal released a string of unflattering Italian and ran off to get a fire extinguisher. 

"Dean! What the hell are you doing... is it the real thing?" 

"Guess _not_." Rising, Dean grabbed her wrist and started to run the way they'd come, but before they got to the door, a fire wall started to roll down from the ceiling. "Under it," he shouted, shoving her ahead.

Adrenaline kicked in and Sydney dropped and slid under the door with instinctual grace, making sure Dean made it through before she started running again. She touched her earring to activate her transmitter. "Marshall, we need an exit. Stat." The agent shot the hunter a scowl as he joined her. "I swear, if I'd known your test involved arson..." Marshall's response came in her ear and she oriented to his directions. "This way," she took off running knowing Dean would be right on her heels. 

He didn't even get a chance to shoot back and answer. When she turned a corner, he was hard on her heels, almost bumping into her because she slowed suddenly. Two seconds later, she was point to the right to what looked like a dead end. He started asking if she really thought it was a good idea, but she'd taken off again with all the confidence in the world. Reserving judgment, he followed again, wishing he had a weapon on him, just in case. 

They came to a stop again and he heard her talking to whoever was whispering in her ear. Next thing he knew, she was having him clasp his hands together so she could step on them, and then was removing an air conditioning panel. Tossing it to the ground, she crawled inside. Next thing he knew, her hand shot out and he was being ordered to get his ass up there.

Inside what was actually a very wide vent, or rather an old passage way now being used as a vent, he crawled behind her on all fours. Course he'd have taken the time to enjoy the view more if the calls for "security" weren't so loud.

Once the passage opened up into a chamber with just enough standing room, Sydney bent down to examine the apex of the slit that ran up her thigh and found the hidden tab she was looking for. With a smooth motion, she tore away the fabric to turn the full-length gown into a mini-dress before shimmying out of it all together. With a quick check of the dress construction she pulled again to instantly turn the Asian style collar into a plunging halter neckline. 

"Hold this," she shoved the dress into Dean's hands and it was only then that she met his eyes and realized he was staring. She was in full secret agent mode and his unabashed appraisal shouldn't have affected her, but a heated blush stained her cheeks just the same. "Stop that!" she huffed, her chest heaving as she reached into the inner lining of her bra to retrieve a fake mustache and goatee for Dean. "Put this on," she traded the disguise for her dress, turning it inside out before shimmying back into what was now emerald green design. 

"Can I have an instant re-play," he asked, dumbly holding onto the items she'd given him.

Still blushing, Sydney cocked a lopsided smile as she moved to him and reached around his waist. "Maybe later," she said in a bold tease, her fingers suddenly fumbling nervously as her fingers slid under his cummerbund. 

"I'd love to, but is this really the time?" Dean asked, his gaze skimming over her face. "By the way, lower's bet--"

"Eh hem," Sydney cleared her throat deliberately. "I said _later._ " She unfastened the button at the small of his back and pulled the cummerbund away before flipping it over to reveal the matching emerald green on the reverse. "It's important to match, you know..." she grinned up at him as she reached around again to refasten the accessory. 

When she stepped back, she reached up to pull the chopsticks out of her bun, letting her natural brunette hair fall around her shoulders. The chopsticks were filled with lethal poison, so she slipped them safely into her garter. Still adjusting everything, she looked up at Dean and let out a laugh. "You're crooked..." she moved in with expert efficiency to adjust the mustache, her finger lingering just a little as she dragged it over his lips. A twang of arousal gripped her and she snapped her finger back, only to suck in a sharp breath when he caught her wrist. 

"Crooked's not the first word that comes to mind," he said, his mouth burning. He started to lean in, slanting his mouth over hers. "Everything doesn't have to be by the book, agent Bristow," he said right before their lips met. It was a brief kiss, his tongue barely penetrating past her teeth, and it only made him want more, but they were both too aware of the risks to fall to that temptation. Pulling away, he gave her an almost imperceptible nod.

Sydney slowly exhaled as she fought to quell her thundering heart. 

“Syd, everything okay?” Marshall’s voice in her ear jerked Sydney back to reality and she blinked rapidly. “Your GPS signal has stalled 20 yards from the channel that will lead you out.” 

“Yes, got it Marshall. We’ll be out in five. I’ll confirm when we’re safely away,” Sydney said. With a nod to Dean she inclined her head with a slight smile. “This way.” 

When they emerged from the backside of the Vatican, they were able to easily slip through the crowed of evacuated party-goers to get to their car. The agent spent the drive back to the hotel briefing her handler on what they’d discovered. Once they safely back to the room, Sydney let out a long breath, using Dean’s frame to steady herself as she bent her knee to slip one shoe off and then the other. Her feet were killing her. 

“They haven’t been able to crack the translation yet,” she told Dean with a slightly furrowed brow, her hand still pressed unnecessarily against his chest. She grinned and plucked the mustache off as she continued talking. “We have experts that have studied every bit of Rambaldi’s known manuscripts, but they’ve never seen anything like this. They aren’t even sure whether it’s written in code or it’s an unknown language.” 

Dean's exaggerated "ouch" was lost as she brought him up to speed. He liked having her close like this, touching him, though he was sure it would only be a fleeting moment before she pulled away. Unless he did something about it. 

Steering her to the sofa in the sitting room area of the suite, he went to the bar and poured a couple of drinks. Bringing them back, he set them down on the coffee table and sat next to her, smoothly putting his hands on her thighs, near her knees, and lightly pulling her toward himself. "Lemme help with your achy feet, I’ve heard that stilettos aren't only dangerous but painful." He was glad she allowed him to draw her legs over his lap and sliding one hand down her smooth calves, he closed it over her foot, squeezing gently. "The manuscripts, from what I saw, they're written in Enochian. Not saying it's not coded Enochian but..." he trailed off, reaching for her other foot. 

Sydney bit her lower lip and tried unsuccessfully to squelch a dimpled grin as he smoothly weaseled his way into giving her a foot rub. Not that she hated it. In fact, she found she liked it. A lot. Her eyelashes fluttered slightly as she tried maintain her professional focus while his fingers worked over her aching muscles. 

"Enochian? As in the mythical language of the angels?" she let out a soft laugh. "Yeah right." When she saw he wasn't laughing with her, she arched a brow. "You're serious. Right... I forgot. You're in bed with the angels," she rolled her eyes and gave him a look. "So what does it say smarty pants?" 

He made a face at her phrasing. "I don't read Enochian, but I know someone who does." His hand slid up from her arch to her heel, then to her calf. "Problem is Castiel hasn't showed up since...since Armageddon day." Nowadays, Dean seemed to measure time by pre and post that terrible day. "He used to check in every once in a while. That's why this Balthazar must have thought I, we... are protected. Truth is, I think we fought a battle on the same side and then it was over." 

Sydney's expression softened when she sensed the vulnerability in Dean's voice as he spoke about the day his brother died. "Well there hasn't been a code yet that Marshall couldn't crack," she said, trying to sound encouraging, wanting more than anything to take his pain away. "Until then, I guess we're in a holding pattern... huh?" she turned and picked up the glasses he'd poured and handed one to Dean. "I guess it can't hurt to relax just a little... right?" she gave him a look out of the corner of her eye as she sipped the drink with a shy smile. 

"Yeah." He took a drink, then leaned in and nuzzled the side of her neck. Her skin was so soft. Her fragrance so delicate. Skimming his mouth along the column of her throat, he reluctantly admitted, "I could try to call him."

Breath quickening, Sydney swallowed hard when his lips feathered against her neck. He smelled so good. Her stomach fluttered and her entire body tingled with nervous anticipation. "What... you have him on speed dial? Angels are... wired? As in... just... reach out and touch someone?" Her voice was breathy and almost timid, her powers of seduction completely failing her. It was like she was making out with a boy for the first time. "You should... totally do that," she said having trouble even remembering where she was going with this. Work. They were still working, she tried to remind herself even as she dared to turn and look at him through thick lashes. 

"Probably right." Despite his words, he kept her close, feathering kisses along her jaw until he reached her mouth. He kissed her lightly. Slanting his mouth in the opposite direction, he kissed her again, his tongue barely gliding against the tip of hers before he pulled back slightly. 

"I will. Later," he added, closing his arms around her and, in the process, setting his drink down. "Promise." Bringing his mouth down over hers, he kissed her again, this time more firmly. He slid his tongue across the seam of her mouth, seeking entrance. The moment her lips parted, he dipped his tongue inside, twisting it around hers and pulling her closer. He'd been wanting this for a very long time. To hold her, taste her. To show her what she did to him, and he'd be damned if he was going to let this opportunity slip through his fingers. Castiel could wait. Everything could wait. This moment was theirs and theirs alone. 

Sinking back into the love seat, Sydney lost herself to his kisses. Normally, she was in complete control when things got to this point with the target of her seduction, but now she found herself swept cleanly from her foundation and floating freely as Dean carried her through intoxicating stages of bliss. Her hand moved to the nape of his neck and she pulled him deeper into the kiss, gently sucking his tongue as her body arched up to meet his. Goosebumps broke over her skin as his lips move to caress her bare shoulder, travelling along the wing of her collar bone with exquisite care. 

She didn't know where this was going or where they would end up. All she knew was that she was here right now with this man that had been driving her to distraction. Her eyes closed and her fingers threaded through his short cropped hair as he arched her head back to give him access to her neck and chest, barely covered by the revealing halter. And then she found his lips again, breathy and burning hot against hers. "Promise," she echoed the last word he said, only her voice was a shaky whisper and she wasn't at all sure what she meant.

His fingers twisted around her long hair, sometimes stroking the silken strands, sometime tightening and pulling her closer as his mouth moved over hers. He was in no rush. It felt like he'd waited a lifetime for this moment and, now that it was here, he wanted to savor every moment. Commit her taste, her scent, the soft sounds she made... all of it, to memory. 

Dean moved his free hand down her creamy shoulder and arm, slowly sliding it between her arm and her side. He loved how she molded herself against him, showed him she wanted this as badly as he did. Sliding his hand up from her narrow waist to cup the side of her breast, he gave a low groan. His thumb played with thing strap of her halter, running under it from time to time. The temptation to undo the ties was quickly growing stronger. Palm burning, he moved it away, down her body, his time exploring her firm thigh. As he slid his hand up, it hit the garter and the chopsticks. He started to pull them free.

In a flash of instinct kicked in and Sydney's hand whipped out and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. "Don't move," she cautioned. 

"Huh?" His mind was still a little fuzzy, his hormones on overdrive, making it even harder to think. When her grip on his hand tightened, her message got through. "Whoa... alright," he said, raising his hand off her thigh and starting to straighten. "Hands... off." He hadn't gone nearly as far as he wanted but he wasn't messing with her. The lady was dangerous. 

Sydney let out a slow breath as she carefully secured the caps on the needles Dean had inadvertently opened. "Ricin," she said in explanation as she held up what looked like ordinary decorative chopsticks that had held up her up-do at the Vatican. "Lethal dose of toxin in each one. You nearly stabbed me with it..." her cheeks dimpled as set them on the table. When she turned back, she bit her lower lip, the shyness returning as she said, "Now... where were we?"

"I just knew your curves were dangerous. I think I was here, no here," he said, drawing her back into his arms and inching her dress up as he swept his hand along her thigh. He kissed her lightly. Then again, loving how her lips clung to his. Slowly, he used his body to push her back, his breath hitching when she arched her back on the way down. Dipping his head down, he started do kiss his way down her throat.

"Hello, Dean." 

The deep, unexpected voice, jerked Sydney from her tumble back into bliss and she reflexively reached for the closest weapon as she shoved Dean off and took a defensive stance. "Who are you and how did you get in here?" she demanded, pointing the chopsticks at the strange man in a trench-coat, ready stab him if he took a step closer or drew a weapon. 

"Castiel. Angel of the L...lord." Dismissing her, Castiel turned to look at Dean.

 

Dean caught the stutter and wondered if Cas was finally having some doubts. "What brings your feathery ass down here after all this time?" There was a slight edge to Dean's voice.

"I was given to understand something needs my attention. If I'm mistaken," Cas started to turn.

"No, wait!"

"You're Cas?" Sydney's brow arched and she slowly lowered the chopsticks. "I thought you'd be... taller." She looked to Dean and then back to the man who was supposedly an angel. "Uhm..." she adjusted her skewed halter and much too mini mini dress before stepping forward and holding out her hand awkwardly. "I'm Agent Bristow." Was she supposed to get on her knees or something? She had no idea what the protocol was here. 

"There's no need to get on your knees," Cas answered, looking at her hand, then taking it with a resigned shrug.

"Let's not be that hasty. Ow..." Dean glared at Sydney, though he ought to have been expecting her elbow to dig into his ribs.

"Where have you been? Not that I'm not glad you decided to come slumming with us humans."

"I've been busy. What do you require, Dean?"

"Some help finding something. Something that can help get Sam back." Dean's eyes locked with the angel's. He could tell Cas was going to try to talk him out of it, and raised his hand. "Hear me out. Believe me, I've done my research and there _is_ a way. It involves the spear of Longinus which Syd and I--"

"You have found the sacred lance?" Castiel asked, looking at Sydney and then at Dean. "Where is it. I will take it and keep it safe, it cannot fall into the wrong hands."

"That's the problem. We haven't exactly found it yet," Sydney interjected. "And if by wrong hands, you mean that Balthazar guy, then yeah, we're on the same page." The agent's eyes narrowed speculatively on the unassuming man. "Do you know anything about Dean being the Chosen One?" Her eyes flitted to Dean's. She still hadn't told him that according to Rambaldi, they shared that designation. She also hadn't mentioned the fact that her blood was apparently key to this somehow... at least according to Sark. 

"Dean has a destiny he has yet to fulfill. If he chooses," Castiel added before Dean pointed out he didn't believe in destiny, or put it in more vulgar terms. His gaze rested on her. "As do you. This is a discussion for another time. What do you two know about the location? And has Balthazar been in contact?"

"Just what the hell is going on? Who's Balty, and what does he have to do with this?" Dean demanded.

"Everything. Heaven is in civil war and my brother has decided to sit it out and act as arms dealer. The holy spear is a powerful weapon, one he will sell to the highest bidder once he gets his hands on it. I cannot permit that. We need to find it, then I'll take it into custody."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Dean held up a hand, "You're not taking anything until I'm through with it. You got that? You help us find it, I use it, then you get to keep it."

Cas' face tightened. He looked like he was disappointed in Dean. 

"Don't pull that crap. I _need_ the spear." Dean didn't flinch from Castiel's gaze.

"It may not be the panacea you hope for." Seeing the stubborn tilt of Dean's jaw, Castiel gave a resigned sigh. "Alright. What do you know about its whereabouts?"

Sydney's eyes remained fixed on the angel. _He knew about her supposed destiny._ She didn't look at Dean. She wasn't sure she was prepared to talk about all that. She still wasn't sure she even believed it herself. While the two men negotiated, the agent moved to her tablet to pull up the high res image she'd taken of the Rambaldi page at the Vatican. She really didn't know if it had anything to do with the location of the spear, but the Cardinal seemed to think so. 

"So if you're really an angel, I assume you can translate this?" she handed the tablet to Castiel. 

"She's better equipped than you," Castiel said, taking the computer which was an improvement on the scraps of paper the Winchesters often handed him.

"I'll try not to get my feelings hurt, on the grounds that her equipment really is..." Feeling the weight of two pairs of eyes staring at him, Dean ended with, "dangerous."

Throwing Sydney a questioning look, Cas turned his attention back to less frivolous matters. "The handwriting, it's that of my sister, Bath Kol. It is a record of what she has done," he said, frowning. "The spear of Longinus has the power of heaven but belongs in the keeping of man. Divine agents have been entrusted with the spear and with the gift to shroud it from heaven and hell. It shall rest with the warrior monks, who shall protect it from all but the righteous. The chosen." Castiel cocked his head to the side, looking at the picture, then at Dean. 

"Hold on, dude, picture means nothing."

"There's another one like it, only with your picture," Cas said, his gaze shifting to Sydney. "But you're right, it probably means nothing."

"She what? You what?" Dean asked, looking at her.

Sydney's eyes widened and then narrowed on the traitorous angel before turning a sheepish look on Dean, lifting her shoulder in a shrug. "Yeah... go figure," she tried turning his own glib attitude back on him. 

"Go figure?" Dean shot her a look that said she had some explaining to do. "So, all that writing," he waved toward the tablet still in the angel's hand. "All that tiny writing... and that's ALL it says?" Nothing about where it is?"

"Essentially." Cas agreed in a flat tone, adding, "The secret order of the Illuminati were referred to as Divine agents, before their corruption. This does not bode well. It is likely to have been sold centuries ago."

"Well how about we ask your _sister?_ " 

"Dean, how many times must I tell you. There is war." He let out a sigh. "She fell in battle." 

Sydney shot Dean, who was acting pretty callous for a guy who'd lost his brother, a scolding looked before her eyes softened and she moved toward the man in the trench coat, touching his shoulder lightly. "I'm sorry," she told him, pausing to let her condolences settle before she went on. "My organization has a lot of information on the Illuminati because of their ties to Rambaldi," she looked back to Dean. "We probably have intel on these warrior monks..." 

"Thank you." Castiel didn't show his surprise at her words, though sympathy wasn't something anyone showered on him. 

"Okay, let's tap them--"

"When you have something, call me. I'll come with you." Castiel disappeared.

"I really hate when he does that." Shaking his head, Dean picked up the tablet and walked over to her. "Tell them to see what they can find out about any current orders of the Illuminati. I mean are they still around?"

Nodding, Sydney picked up her cell to call Vaughn. Without explaining how, she told her handler that they had a translation of the Rambaldi page and asked him to dig into the Illuminati, giving him all the specifics they had - which wasn't much. He promised to call back as soon as he had something. 

Taking a deep breath, Sydney pushed her hair out of her face, needing a moment to regroup after having their steamy make-out session interrupted by a self-proclaimed Angel of the Lord. "That was an angel." She said, her voice almost reverent. "I was just in the presence of a real, honest to God angel." She turned a curious look to Dean. "So this is your life? Just... rubbing shoulders with heavenly servants? No big deal..." 

"You make it sound glamorous," Dean said, chuckling at the thought. "Trust me, my life is demons and dark things. Angels are just... a shade of gray," he conceded with a shrug. "Aww, come on, don't tell me you're star struck by some guy in a trench coat. He didn't even have to bring out the wings." 

"He has wings?" Her eyes widened slightly as she blew out a breath. "I don't know..." Sydney said, tucking her head a little shyly. "I guess it's just that I've spent so much of my life thinking I was making a difference in the world. Fighting for what's right. But your friend... Castiel. There's really a war going on in Heaven? It just makes all this seem so..." she gestured around the room to all her spy gadgets, unable to really articulate what she felt. "Trivial," she said finally. 

"Plus... geez," her eyes traveled over Dean's body and her cheeks flushed. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she added, "It's like God was totally watching us be naughty." 

"Was he?" Dean gave a slow smirk and reached out to draw her close. "I don't think he even noticed we were busy. Cas isn't perceptive about some things. But there's nothing wrong with my powers of perception. Trust me." As if to make a point, he slid his hands down her hips and over the curve of her ass, but was smart enough to say. "Like your blush. Suits you." God, he wanted to pick up where they'd left off, wanted it bad. But they were in a race to find the spear, and that had priority. Reluctantly, he released her. 

Blush deepening, Sydney glanced up as if she'd see God's image as it appears on the Sistine Chapel ceiling, grateful when Dean stepped back. "Seriously, I may never have sex again," she said a little wide-eyed. "I mean... what are the chances? You and me... Chosen ones. And that we just randomly ran into each other at the university... both looking for the same artifact. That wasn't random. Is this what he meant by destiny?" 

"I don't know what it means Syd, other than... I need the spear. You seem to be the key to it somehow. So it kind of makes sense that we'd meet up, kind of like two people who are starving in the middle of the night. Is it destiny that brings them to the same burger joint? Something they had no choice in? I don't think so. I don't _like_ to think so. Believing in stuff like that somehow gives it power over you." 

Her face fell and he was sorry he said anything. Putting his hand behind her back, he looked down at her. "Destiny hasn't been real kind to my family, so I don't go looking for it. But if I have to face one more so called destiny, then I couldn't ask for a better person to ride shotgun." 

Sydney gifted Dean with a warm smile. "Me either," she told him honestly. It was funny how her perception of him changed once he finally let her in. And since he'd been so open, she felt like she should do the same. "There is something...." she lifted her gaze to his. "You said I seem to be the key somehow," she swallowed. "Sark said the same thing. That somehow my blood is important when it comes to the spear." 

"Blood? He said your blood?" Dean frowned, not liking the sound of that. It could mean a ritual that required a little blood, but it could mean _sacrifice_. What were the odds that they were talking about a simple cut versus... versus something he wasn't going to think about. "Did he say anything else? It's important. Think about his exact words," Dean said. 

Considering how heavily Sark was flirting, Sydney was pretty sure Dean didn't want his _exact_ words. "He really wasn't very specific. It's always very cat and mouse with Sark. I don't know if I even believe it... he just said my blood was needed." She gave a helpless shrug. "I know it sounds crazy, but that's why Balthazar sent him after me. Apparently the only reason Balthazar didn't come himself was out of some kind of professional courtesy. I guess your friend Cas carries some clout up there." 

Dean gave a nod, not real satisfied with the answer. It certainly didn't put him at ease and it meant he needed to move quickly to translate the ritual he'd tracked down, the one that would power up the spear. It was in Latin with some parts of it in Greek and he'd thought about getting Bobby to do the legwork but, he also hadn't wanted anyone to know he was going after the spear. For one thing, Bobby would likely try to stop him. To tell him the things he should have already learned about bringing people back. 

"I don't think Cas is what stopped Balthazar. There were anti-angel sigils at the Vatican, yeah I know, ironic." He waited for her to look at him. "How did he expect to get your blood?" 

"SD-6 doesn't mess around," Sydney told Dean gravely. "Not that he would have succeeded, mind you," she added with a confident grin. "The only reason Sark didn't at least attempt to take exactly what he wanted was for purely selfish reasons. He wants out from under the guy pulling his strings. It's the only reason he's rooting for Team Bris-chester..." she grinned as she stumbled slightly over the silly name mash-up. "Sydean?" She shook her head, reminding herself to focus. Something about Dean brought out her playful side. "What do you mean by anti-angel sigils? You mean angels can't show up at the Vatican? Why would they do that?" 

"I'm not an expert at that type of sigil but I recognized some that are used for hiding, not that the Vatican's location is a secret but, I guess the angels can't get a look inside, at least the building we were in. I’ve learned on that gets rid of angels and boy, those are freaky. You need blood to trigger them and then any angel in the room goes 'poof,'" he gestured. "I figure some of the other ones had similar effects, which is why team Bris-chester could get inside to get a look at the spear, and Balthazar couldn't." Though he grinned, his mind was occupied with bigger things. Like whether, now that they were out of the Vatican, Balthazar would be after Sydney. If he needed her then wouldn't he come get her? "Know what? A couple of sigils aren't such a bad idea."

"Yeah, if the Vatican has a Do Not Enter policy, I guess you weren't kidding about angels being a gray area on the good and evil scale," Sydney had to agree. "And if this Balthazar guy is in bed with Sark, I'd say that places him firmly on the darker side of gray." 

When Sydney's phone buzzed, she picked it up and listened as Marshal reported that they'd uncovered references in the Rambaldi documents to a warrior faction of the Order of Cistercians. They had an unverified location for the original monastery which was apparently hidden deep in the Austrian Alps, only accessible by foot. The description correlated to reports that shards of the True Cross were under the protection of these ancient monks so it seemed like a good bet to finding the spear of Longinus. 

Once the agent ended the call, she looked to Dean with a dimpled grin. "Did you ever see the Sound of Music? I hear Austria is really pretty this time of year. But don't worry -- in a lot of ways, helicopters are better than airplanes. The pilot has much more maneuverability... especially at high altitudes where they'll be dropping us." Sydney's grin broadened when she saw the look of paralysis on Dean's face. 

"Come on hotshot, we need to get ready if we're going to get in ahead of the storm front."


	6. Chapter 6

Although he was grateful for the warmth of the hi-tech, lightweight, weather-proof clothing they'd been given, Dean couldn't help feeling like he looked like some damned snow bunny. They were both bundled up from head to toe in white snow gear, including the damned boots on his feet. The ski cap and face mask combo made him more ninja than snow bunny, but that didn't give him any comfort at all, and he'd pushed the mask off his face for now anyway. He supposed he should be grateful that the hood of his jacket wasn't fur trimmed, like Syd's.

After getting off the helicopter ride from hell, they'd been walking for hours, searching for entrance to the monastery. Syd’s CIA handler kept feeding her tips through her ear piece but, so far, they'd found zip. "Looks like team Bri-cheste...chestiel?" he ended, staring in surprise at Castiel who'd appeared in front of them.

"I know... the clothes totally not appropriate, kind of like yours, only worse."

Sydney sucked in a startled gasp and instinctively went for her weapon until she realized it was the angel who’d materialized out of thin air.  
 _Literally_ , thin air. It wasn't so bad they needed supplemental oxygen, but they hadn't really had any time to acclimate to the altitude, so it was hard on the lungs. "What's wrong with our clothes? Totally appropriate if you're in the business of not dying."

Sydney pulled out her GPS and looked at the coordinates again, but it wasn't much help. "So what are we missing? Where is this place?" 

"I had hoped you would have found it by now," Cas responded, assessing the surrounding areas. "I had others search. Let me check," he said, disappearing before their eyes.

Dean raised his hand. "Wait for it."

Less than thirty seconds later, Cas returned. "It's nowhere. Your information must not be credible."

"Or, maybe you didn't get into every nook and cranny," Dean said, nodding up at the craggy face of the mountain in front of them.

"It's not nowhere," Sydney said hesitantly. There was something that just seemed inherently wrong about contradicting an angel, but Dean had made it clear that Cas was far from infallible. "Heat sensors picked up something over that ridge," she gestured to the craggy peaks partially obscured by the incoming weather system. "But it's hidden in the mountainside and they can't get near it with air support. Can you check it out?"

Without answering, Castiel disappeared again.

"Don't be offended, he's like tha-- Okay, that was even faster than usual." Shaking a boot free of snow, Dean walked closer to Syd and Castiel. "Is it there?"

"Probably."

"Probably? I wouldn't have guessed high altitude would fuck with an angel's mind." 

Cas frowned at Dean. "I can't get beyond a certain point up there. Something has angel-proofed the area. Not just hidden it from me."

"I'm gonna need to learn this angel-proofing technique." The only angel-proofing techniques Dean had learned were sigils used to hide from angels, and one that had to be written in blood and triggered just when you wanted to get rid of angels, not block them completely from entering. "So get us as close as possible," Dean suggested. 

Sydney's head was spinning and she didn't think it had anything to do with the altitude. "Never going to get used to that," she muttered with a reticent glance to Castiel. "You can do that?" 

"Don't encourage him. Once he starts showing off, he never stops."

Pulling his gaze from Sydney, Castiel coolly looked at Dean, and then stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders.

The world was swept away and, an instant later, he and Sydney were deposited on an icy ledge over a deep canyon. Pressing his back against the rock wall, Dean shouted, "Cas! What the fuck." He took a couple deep breaths, his exhales misting in front of his mouth. "Got any bright ideas, ultra spy?"

Sydney let out a sharp squeak of surprise, instinctively pressing into Dean as she sensed the sharp drop next to her. The wind whipped her hair around her face as she slowly turned to get her bearings, trusting Dean to hold onto her.

Her instinct had been right. They stood on a precipice less than two feet wide jutting out over a thousand foot drop. Tilting her head up, she scanned the icy cliff face and frowned. It would be a feat for even the most experienced mountaineer. She was skilled, but she wasn't about to bet Dean's life on her abilities. "Don't suppose you just forgot to mention all those times you scaled Mt. Everest..." she spoke quietly, acutely aware that the slightest vibration could set off an avalanche." I'll take that as a 'no,'" she said, at the lack of a response from him. 

Dean placed his arm across her body to keep her from getting too close to the edge, he looked behind, over the stone cliff that reached his shoulder. It was the same on the other side. "Cas, you dick!" Dean shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing over and over and over.

Sydney sucked in a sharp breath and winced, her eyes shooting daggers at Dean.

A rumble sounded nearby, that sound also echoing. Then walls of ice started the shear off the mountains. "Holy shit." Fighting the urge to close his eyes, Dean watched as snow piled on top of snow, breaking off large slabs of snow packed underneath, and triggering avalanches.

"Come on," Sydney shouted over the deafening roar of cascading slabs of snow and ice. She lowered her goggles over her eyes and grabbed her ice axe from her belt and gestured for Dean to do the same. Shifting her body so she was pressed against the slick icy wall, she slammed the pick into the ice to use as an anchor to move along the ledge while ice tumbled overhead. Their only hope was to find  
some kind of protective overhang or cave.

The trained agent moved quickly, side-stepping to find another spot to anchor before moving again. She turned her head to check on Dean, but the wind had whipped up the loose snow taking her visibility down to almost nothing. Adrenaline pounded through her veins and she was gripped with panic until she caught sight of his form moving along the ledge close behind her. Trusting that he would keep up, she forged along until the swing of her axe caught air signaling a cave or crevice. She tucked into the opening just as the entire face of the mountainside gave way. 

"DEAN!" Sydney shouted as she turned back to the ledge and reached blindly into the blizzard of white until she miraculously caught his hand. Gripping it with all her strength, she pulled until he was able to get some leverage and came tumbling into the cave on top of her. 

The instant his weight came bearing down on her, he closed his arms around her and rolled over, still scrambling away from the entrance to the cave and carrying her with him. "Oh man... no one warned me about how dangerous it is dating a spy." Coughing to clear his lungs, he brushed the hair off her face.

"You alright?" Yeah, he was acting cool, but he knew if it hadn't been for her, he wouldn't still be here cracking jokes. 

"Yeah," she nodded, her chest still heaving from the exertion. But it wasn't just the rush of adrenaline that kept her heart pounding wildly in her chest. Dean's strong arms around her as she lay against him almost made her forget that the mountainside was coming down all around them. 

"Wait... we're dating?" But as the light in the cave suddenly grew dimmer, Sydney looked over her shoulder. Big hunks of packed snow were skidding by the entrance and slowly starting to pile up. They were about to be trapped.

Gripped by the utter inevitability of the moment, Sydney surrendered to blind action. Her protective goggles were skewed cock-eyed on her head and she shoved them all the way off before she did the same to Dean. She searched his green eyes with a look of complete faith before capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

His lips moved against hers, his hunger suddenly sharpened by the danger they were in. Sliding his hand up her back, he tangled it in her hair, so soft and silky, warm in contrast to the cold air around them. The cave shook, the light faded out to almost nothing. In the back of his mind, he knew they'd be in trouble if it went out completely. It could mean they'd have no air, but there was nothing he could do about that. What he could do was focus on this woman in his arms. This woman he hadn't really known how to deal with at first, who he'd pegged as the enemy, and who'd somehow come to mean a lot to him. It wasn't just that she was so damned sexy either. She had this smile, the slightly shy one she flashed when she wasn't 'in persona.' It just, it just made him want to make her smile more. 

As he kissed her now, he vowed he would see that smile again. In the sunlight. They'd get out of this mess, they'd find the spear, and... Yeah, he wasn't gonna think on what would come next. It was enough that they had now, and they'd have tomorrow.

Each breath they took between increasingly smoldering kisses blew puffs of steam into the freezing air. She felt lightheaded and knew there was a good chance they wouldn't have enough oxygen to last more than a few hours. If they were going to survive, they had to act quickly. "Dean..." her breath ghosted across his face as she drew back. "We're going to get out of this."

The agent pulled herself up into a kneeling position so she could shoulder off her pack to retrieve her flashlight. She got to her feet and moved toward the cave entrance. The powerful beam of light couldn't penetrate the densely packed snow even in the slightest. "It'll take us hours to dig out from this. By then the storm will be on us. We'd be safer..." her voice trailed off as a soft whistling sound caught her ear.

"Safer in here," he finished for her.

"Listen..." Sydney tilted her head and moved toward the back of the cave to investigate. "You hear that?" As she got closer she raised her hand and felt the air moving across some kind of natural vent. She breathed it in and didn't detect any heavy sulfur or anything toxic. She let out relieved breath. "We've got air. We should be okay. Castiel will find us. Right?"

He gave a nod. "And when he does, remind me to kick his ass." As she flashlight moved over the wall, he frowned and grabbed for her hand, controlling it so that the beam of light from her flashlight aimed where he wanted. "Dammit..." He moved her hand to the right and cursed again. "Cas won't be coming here." 

Searching his pockets, he found his own flashlight. "We've got air, food, and we can dig our way out. You got any communications?" he asked.

Sydney moved to the cave wall and touched the markings, her fingers tracing along the symbols that were etched into the rock. Someone had gone to an awful lot of trouble to make sure angels couldn't get in here. Was it possible that the monks had carved these all along the mountains that hid their monastery? 

"Yeah... sat phone," the agent said in response to Dean's question. She moved to her pack and crouched down to pull it out. "No way they can get an extraction team in here," she reminded him that it was the reason they'd been left to traverse the craggy peaks on foot. She looked at the device display and frowned. "We're not getting a signal in here."

Taking a deep breath she made quick assessment of the situation. "We've got food and air... but without the sunlight we're well into subzero temperatures and it's only going to drop lower when the blizzard rolls in. We've got no fuel for a fire. We've got a few of these survival heat packs," she pulled out the plastic wrapped emergency packets. "But they're really designed to avoid frostbite of fingers and toes. We have to keep our core warm..." she stood up and looked at Dean, dimples bracketing the impish smile that accompanied her suddenly shy voice. "You know the best way to do that...?"

"Finally let you get into my pants?" He had to wonder how the hell she could pole dance like the best of them one moment, then blush at talk of sharing body warmth. Putting his hand out, he caught hers and pulled her slowly toward him. "It'll be fine. We'll get through the night, the sun will melt the snow at the entrance, and we'll get out, just like you said. Let's just concentrate on the keeping warm part for now, hmm?"

Sydney nodded and looked down at their gloved hands, already wishing she could feel his skin next to hers. At the same time, the mere thought of being naked next to him made her cheeks burn. "Body heat. For survival," she looked back up at him, grinning at the play of shadows on his face as her flashlight bobbed. "I'm sure you'll be a perfect gentleman."

"I'm sure if I step out of line, you'll let me know," he answered, not making any promises as he lifted her hand up and kissed her wrist. Giving her a smile, he went to his pack and pulled out his bedding and put it down in the center of the cave, away from the walls that were radiating with cold. 

Grabbing her bedding, he placed it over his. It would trap some of their body heat. When he got up, he had a small flask in his hand. "It's the good stuff," he said, passing it to her. He ought to know, he'd taken it from the hotel. 

Butterflies danced in her stomach as she watched Dean set up a bed for them using the survival gear they'd packed in. It seemed ridiculous that she was so nervous and if it was anybody else, she could easily detach herself and think of it as strictly survival. But it was Dean. And she really felt something for him. And she didn't want to make a fool out of herself.

All at once she tipped back the flask and took a long drink. Fortunately it was the good stuff and she barely winced at the blissful burn as the liquid slid down her throat. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were just trying to get me drunk. Oh wait... I _do_ know you better," she said with a coy smile, taking another drink before handing it back.

He gave her a look, but didn't say anything in defense. Setting the flask down, he held the sleeping bag open. "After you."

"You're such a gentleman..." Sydney eyed the sleeping bag and then Dean as she brushed off the ice crystals and shook out the hood of her snow suit to minimize the dampness to their bed. "We need to stay dry," she said, attempting to keep her tone matter-of-fact despite her fluttering nerves. "Turn around," she instructed as she brushed all the snow off him too. With his back to her, she bit her lower lip and grinned, already feeling the warmth in her face where she should be freezing. It really was amazing how psychology could directly impact physiology. They just needed to use that to their advantage.

"We need to retain as much heat as possible... minimize direct exposure to the cold air," the agent went on as she stamped her feet. "Boots off. Everything else stays on until we're able to... uh... make the best of our body heat." Insecurity got the best of her and she propped the flashlight near the makeshift bed so it cast a light over him. She needed to see his face -- know that he was for real. Sneaking a quick look at Dean as he turned back around, Sydney sat down and pulled off her boots and quickly slipped under the covers before rolling onto her side to grab the flask and take another drink. This time she coughed and laughed as she started feeling the effects. 

As he got his boots off and heard her choking, he grinned. "You can't possibly be nervous, Agent Bristow. You do know getting me in the sack is far less dangerous than... say, trying to seduce a vampire and then drug it." The memory of how she'd put herself in such danger and how blissfully unaware she'd been as she bravely fought the vampire was something he'd never forget. Course now that she knew all that was required was a beheading, she'd probably be just fine next time she met up with one. Slowly, he turned back and started to crawl into the sleeping bag next to her, his gaze focused on her face and noting her high color. "Course I've been known to bite."

"No biting! Geez. Thought you were a gentleman," she scoffed as she unzipped her jacket and started to wiggle out of it. Heat was already seeping into her core and he hadn't even touched her. "And I'm not nervous," she said on a nervous giggle. "Seduction is part of my job. But with you staring at me like that, it's kind of hard to stay focused on the job. That's all," she admitted as she shoved the bulky jacket out of the sleeping bag which made for a little more space. "You're hogging all the room in here," she said with a pointed look to his jacket as she worked the zipper down and helped him off with it. 

"I see. Well, just pretend I'm the bad guy and it's your job to seduce me," he answered, chuckling at the glare she aimed at him, though he couldn't help thinking she was doing just that as she helped him undress. Shoving his jacket out of the bag, he rolled on his side to give her more room. Being able to look at her was just a bonus. "How many layers you got on? Let me know if you want some help," he said as he started to pull off the thick shirt he had on over the fleece turtle neck he had on.

"I got it..." she said as she started pulling her own layers over her head, ducking away from his elbow as she cocked her hip into his. "Watch where you're putting that thing!" she said referring to her near miss. She flipped on her side with her back to him to try and get more wiggle room as she worked on getting out of her snow pants. "And for the record.. I don't want to pretend with you," she said quietly, grateful that he couldn't see her face just then. 

There was a brief silence as he processed that and then realized that this would be a good time to give a response. "Good," he said, no hint of joking in his voice. "It's easy to get caught up in game of pretend. I don't want to pretend with you either. Not ever again." He leaned towards her, his chest pressing against the warmth of her back as he worked the shirt off his shoulder.

Sydney stilled and closed her eyes to take in the moment, a small smile playing on her lips. "Never again," she agreed, suddenly eager to get closer to him. She squirmed and shimmied her snow pants down her legs, but they were all bunched up at her calves and she couldn't get them off. When she flipped back over her breath hitched as her hands fell to his bare chest. She lifted her eyes to look at him, dimples more pronounced than usual. "Uh... little help please? I'm stuck..." She pressed her knees against his and opened her legs so he could push the pants with his foot.

He'd worked his clothes off faster and now that his leg was tucked between hers and she was wiggling in a way that set his blood on fire, he was having major second thoughts about his promise to be a gentleman. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed her hip. "Stop wriggling around like that, or I'm not responsible." He gave her a look that said she'd understood him right. Course having his hand on her hip was no better than the squirming he'd managed to stop. Or not, because the moment he started using his foot to push her pants off, she was helping again. "You're killin' me." 

Leaning a little closer, so close there was no space between them, Dean doubled over under the covers, reaching for their garments at the bottom of the sleeping bag. His mouth brushed over her hip, over smooth flesh and a thin strip of lace that now gripped his imagination. Was it black? Red? White, he decided.

When she felt his lips against her skin, Sydney squealed and giggled to squirm away from him, sucking in sharp breaths each time the rough stubble of his face brushed a sensitive area. "Hey, hey... no fair!" She laughed and curled over to pull him up and away, working with him to toss their shed clothing onto the growing heap outside the bag.

Satisfied with their joint survival effort, the agent lay on her back and let out a long breath to consider their next move. But as she settled into the cocoon of warmth next to Dean, heat pooled to her core causing her thoughts to stray way beyond strict survival. Acutely aware of his steady breaths feathering across her neck, Sydney swallowed hard. She was down to underwear and a thermal tank over her bra, and from what she could tell he was down to whatever had been wearing under his pants. Maybe he went commando. The thought brought another bloom of color to her cheeks.

"So..." she cleared her throat awkwardly and tried unsuccessfully to suppress the stupid dimpled grin. The fact that he was so smooth and confident about all this only made it harder not to feel ridiculous. "Warm enough?"

She had to ask? "Bordering on hot," he answered truthfully. "May I?" He had an arm over her and was about to pull her close if she let him.

Sydney nodded and rolled on her side to scoot closer, touched by the fact the he really was being a gentleman. Tucking her shoulder under his arm, she rested her hand on his chest and tilted her face up to his.

Her hands might be a little cool, but his skin felt hot where she touched him. Closing his arm around her, he pulled her close, pressing his palm against her back, smiling just a little at the fact that she hadn't managed to make herself strip all the way down. He wanted to tease her about it and ask if that's what the CIA survival training had taught her, but he decided to keep that for later. Right now, he really should concentrate on behaving, even if it meant he'd end off having to mentally recite exorcisms he'd memorized. 

He smiled down at her. "I'm really, really glad I'm here with you. I mean, i could have been stuck with Castiel..." he made a face.

Sydney laughed and relaxed into him, her finger unconsciously tracing little figure eights on his chest. "I guess it's kind of a good thing the monks put up the 'keep out' signs. At least we know he won't be popping in unexpectedly..." she said with a bashful smile, her voice trailing off with the implication that there might be something going on that she wouldn't want an angel peeking in on.

Now that he had an indication that she wasn't against a little action, maybe a continuation of what they had going when Castiel had interrupted them, he allowed his hand to stray down her back in a caress. "It's a very good thing," he agreed. "Know what I've heard? I've heard a little friction goes a long way to keeping you warm." His gaze dropped to her pouty lips. "I say we test that theory," he whispered bringing his mouth inches above hers.

"Is that what you heard?" Sydney quirked a playful brow and pulled back before their lips could touch, but still hovered within a hair's breadth. Her heart thundered in her chest and her pulse quickened with anticipation. "Well you know what I've heard?" she searched his eyes and lost herself in their depth -- even under the dim glow of the propped up flashlight, she saw pools of green so vivid it was as if she was diving into a tropical paradise. "I've heard that the best way to prevent hypothermia is full body contact." She pressed her body closer and her lips parted slightly as they touched his, breath hitching as his mouth closed over hers.

Her words slammed into him so hard, his breath rushed out of him in a low moan. He should have known she didn't go half way on anything, that she gave as good as she got. "Full contact. Check," he whispered against her mouth, holding the chaste kiss for a few seconds before he suddenly held her tighter and rolled onto his back, both of them fighting the sleeping bag until she was sprawled over him. His mouth crashed into hers again, this time in a hungry, unchecked kiss, while his hands moved over her body, molding her closer as his tongue danced and dueled with hers.

When her thigh slipped between his legs and she felt his arousal pressing against her bare flesh, she sucked in a startled gasp, but as heat rushed through her entire body, her inhibitions melted away. She moved against him, her legs instinctively cinching around his muscular thigh seeking the friction she suddenly couldn't get enough of. "Oh God," she gasped out between kisses. "Dean..."

And then he was tugging at her tank top. With unabashed enthusiasm, she eagerly shifted so he could get it off only to let out a laughing squeal when the frigid air rushed in over them in the split second it took for him to eject the clothing from the smoldering warmth of their sanctuary. It was a stark reminder of the very real danger that surrounded them, but Sydney had never felt safer in her life.

He closed his arms around her, loving how she snuggled closer and shook with laughter over him. "You like the cold, huh?" He threatened to open up the sleeping bag, laughing when she very effectively stopped him. His laughter was cut off when her stomach ground against his arousal. Arching up against her, he cupped the back of her head and tugged her down, giving her an open mouthed kiss. Running his hand down her back, he lingered for a moment over her ass, then swept his hand up her side, holding her as they kissed.

The touch of his hand seared into her flesh and she lost herself completely in his kisses. Her body ground against his with increasingly deliberate movements, only the thin fabric of her boy shorts separating them. "Dean..." her breath was ragged against his. "Is this really happening?" the agent was so dizzy with desire, she couldn't have stopped herself even if she wanted to. Not that she wanted to. It's just that... "This isn't me. I'm not like this," her mouth collided with his between each explanation. "Should be focused on the job. I don't want you to think that I'm--" her voice hitched on a moan when his body shifted abruptly and his arousal was suddenly sliding against the slick heat of her panties. 

"You're not what? Warm? Soft. Gorgeous. Mmm. Mine?" he said between kisses. "Trust me agent Bristow, you're making it very hard for me to think. Not a multi-tasker." Sliding his hand to the middle of her back, he undid her bra. Slowing up, he put his hands on her shoulders, caressing them as he slowly slipped her straps down her arms, his eyes locked with hers, hitching a little as her bra fell away from her body.

She couldn't help but let out a strangled giggle at his answer, but her cheeks were flush with heated arousal. She lowered herself just enough so her breasts brushed his chest, stiff nipples amplifying every sensation that rocked through her body. "That's not what I mean," she protested even as her hips undulated in a slow grind. "I don't normally just jump into the sack with just anybody. And you're not," she squeaked and sucked in a hiss as he bucked up into her. " _You're not just anybody._ And I don't want to be just anybody, and I know I talk too much but - oh God!" she gasped as her panties slipped aside and she felt his steely length ride against her clit. 

"Oh God," he echoed in a much deeper voice, his hips cantering up as he sought more, more pressure, more of her wet heat. It didn't take long to get the panties off, but their struggles to push them down her legs had her pressing repeatedly against his cock until he was rock hard and hurting. 

He pulled her down over him, running his hand down her back and over her backside. "I know who I'm with. You're not just anyone. You'd maybe have to be a little nuts to want to be my _someone_ , but I can hope." Sliding his hands up her sides, he cupped her firm breasts, groaning at the feel of her hard nipple pressing hotly against his palm.

Her movements momentarily stilled as Sydney's heart swelled and she looked at Dean with an irrepressible smile. Even with just the slivers of light she could see the sincerity in his eyes and she knew he meant what he said, she could feel it right down to her soul. "I want to be your someone." Her mouth came over his in a tender kiss that quickly turned fervent as her hips began to move again and she felt his arousal at her entrance. When his hips canted up, she ground herself down to take him to the hilt.

Sydney cried out and arched back until the covers slipped over her head causing her to inhale a frigid breath between clenched teeth. Her thighs tightened as her body adjusted to him. "Dean..." her voice was raw... unrestrained... and when her head came back down and her eyes locked on his, her mouth pulled into a breathless grin. With her hands on his chest, she started to move, hips rotating in a slow grind.

She was full of surprises, something he should know by now, but he hadn't expected her to take him inside all at once like that. Forcing a grin, he vowed she'd never know how close he'd been to losing it, to coming right there and then like he was some teenager, or in his case, a damned tween. The way she said his name, the way she looked down at him as she rode him slowly, it took his breath away. 

He moved his hips, thrusting to the rhythm she set, groaning when she tightened her inner muscles around him. "So beautiful," he said, one hand stroking her back, and using his other hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

Their breaths misted. The cold air on his face and shoulders seemed to intensify the heat between them everywhere that their bodies touched. He moved his hand to her hip and helped her to rock against him, occasionally holding her in place when she ground against him just right. 

Lifting his head, he kissed his way up the valley between her breasts, then nuzzled her throat. He tried to roll her over, but felt her resist, or maybe the bedding was making it hard to get his way. "Is this our first argument?" he asked, managing a laugh, even as the urge to pick up the pace got almost unbearably strong.

"First... fifteenth... who's counting," Sydney's dimples bracketed her grin as she continued to pin him in place, moving her hips in a slow figure eight. Her nipples were rock hard against the cold air, but her skin took on a light sheen of perspiration as she worked to control her body and his. It wasn't easy. Every time she moved to tease, he'd shift and hit her at an angle that would take her breath away. She bit her lower lip and her eyes dropped to half-lidded as she started to ride him harder, taking him deeper, reveling in the ecstasy of the sensations that were building to a crescendo.

"Please... Dean... oh God... please..." the plea slipped out on a guttural moan, her breathing completely ragged as she clung to the edge of euphoria. 

Heat flared through him at her agonized cry, pushing him to the edge. "Right here," he rasped, straining harder as he lifted his hips, driving inside her as deep as he could get, and seeing flashes of white behind his eyelids each time she tightened her muscles around him "Right here, baby." 

He kept an iron grip on her hip, but ran his other hand over her, touching her, exploring her, digging his blunt nails into her flesh now and again. Suddenly, he yanked her down for a long, hot kiss, his tongue weaving in and out of her mouth. Maybe it wasn't fair to distract her like that but, just as suddenly, he rolled her over, shifting so it wasn't uncomfortable. Seeking out her hand, he threaded his fingers though hers, held it tight. He put his other palm down on, flat on the bedding for leverage, and started to thrust in long, deep strokes, closing his eyes tight as she pushed back against him in perfect rhythm with his motions. 

_Want. Need._ "So good," she gasped. Her head spun and her body hummed and she never wanted these feelings to end. Her legs tightened around him and she deliberately bucked hard to hold him in place. "Dean..." his name came in a ragged, desperate demand and her free hand moved to his face and she waited until he opened his eyes.

"Dean..." she said his name again even as her body strained against his. She looked into the depths of his eyes. He was right there with her -- teetering on the edge of oblivion. Time stood still. It wasn't about getting to the end, it was just the beginning. And it was with that thought that Sydney careened into ecstasy. Her entire body bowed and she cried out his name when his powerful thrust sent shock waves through to her core. 

Her cry had him struggling to keep his control for just a few more precious seconds, to give her everything he had to give. Dipping his head, he closed his mouth around her achingly swollen nipple, sucking on it hard as he thrust wildly deep inside her, groaning as she arched off the ground into him, reminding him how strong she was, that she could fight as hard as she could make love, and that under other circumstances, their cries might be of something other than ecstasy. His gut clenched. He lifted his head and sucked in a lungful of air, then he was grinding his hips against hers, white hot heat blinding him as he came hard inside her, calling her name harshly, then whispering it again as they continued to move together, milking their pleasure.

Sydney clung to Dean, mewling softly with strangled breaths as ecstasy crashed around her. Her entire body quivered as the aftershocks took her to places she'd never imagined existed. There was still so much sensation, he had set every nerve ending alight. She keened and contracted and her hands moved along his body, taking the contours of each muscle with her touch. Despite the frigid air that trapped them here, he fed the fire that now smoldered, rocking inside her in a slow, languid tempo, bringing them down from euphoria together. 

Bracing himself on one elbow, he brushed the hair away from her face, then traced its outline, smiling as he watched her. "I think you just rocked my world," he said, his breaths still labored from his exertions. 

"You did _not_ just say that..." Sydney laughed, dimples bracketing her smile. She'd been biting back every clichéd exclamation that nearly spilled from her lips and he'd saved her the embarrassment by popping off with his own. "Tell you what. I'll let that one slide... because that thing you did? Wow." Cheeks already flush with passion now heated to bright pink as her body relived the sensations. "You're incredible," she said as she nuzzled into him.

"You make me _rise_ to the occasion." Seeing her expression, he quickly added, "I did _not_ just say that, either." He brushed her mouth with his. "You're amazing. Perfect," he said, kissing her again. "And what was that thing you called us?"

"Team Bris-chester?" she scrunched her nose feeling silly and euphoric all at the same time. "We do make quite a team," she said. "Can't wait to see how we perform when our survival isn't at stake." She paused and drew back slightly to look at him as if something had just occurred to her. "So this is what survival sex is like?" 

"Ask me about something I know, like survival drinking or survival hiding in some cold and damp place, without all this fancy gear, and dying for a burger." He knew a trick question when he heard it, and wasn't about to fall into its trap, no way. "All I can say is if this is survival sex, then I'm all for facing trouble with you at my side." Figuring he was crushing her into the hard surface under them, he gently rolled off her, but quickly turned on his side, facing her and throwing his leg over her. "You warm enough?" 

"Mmmhmmm," Sydney murmured in the affirmative. They were pretty much buried under the covers with just enough of an opening to get fresh air. "Surprisingly cozy, considering the sub-zero temperature out there." She closed her eyes and settled into the warmth of his chest. Her muscles felt like rubber. If they had to get on the move right now, she'd be in big trouble. "I guess we should try and get some sleep so we can get out of here once the storm lets up." 

"Mmm, yeah." Closing his eyes, he gave a soft smile. "Pretty sure it's gonna be cloudy with a chance of several _storms_ before morning."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean had been right about the storms. They'd reached for each other several times throughout the night, and then again after his cellphone alarm sounded, letting them know it was morning. Getting dressed had been much harder than getting stripped down. Separated and outside the warmth of the bed, he swore he was gonna freeze his damn balls off. 

Even as he used the butt of a rifle to try to break through the ice covering the cave's entrance, he could hear her laughing softly at all his swearing. "You think it's funny? You just don't understand the negative effects of cold on a guy's ..."

"Funny? No... not funny at all," Sydney quickly schooled her features, but dimples still pressed into her cheeks as she repressed her laughter. "It's just that scientifically speaking, there are other parts of your anatomy that would go first. Frostbite typically starts in the fingers and toes..." she could see he wasn't amused so she let it drop. "Why don't you try the other end," she moved her finger in a circle to suggest that he flip the rifle and try and blast through the ice. "We'll want to dislodge any loose shelves before we head out anyway or we'll just end up on the wrong side of another avalanche." 

"Looking for soft spots," he said, turning the rifle around and moving a few paces. "Let's hope it's sunny out." He wasn't panicking but the threat of the ice hardening instead of softening was real. "Not that another night here, with you, would be double the... huh... got my soft spot." Turning the rifle around again, he started digging into the ice and snow. 

Sydney grabbed a pickax from her pack and joined Dean, hacking into the barrier where he'd started digging. Pieces started falling away in large chunks and a gap opened up several feet above them, giving way to a thin stream of sunlight. "Apparently you're my good luck charm," Sydney grinned, happy to be able to actually see his smile again without having to shine a flashlight in his face. 

"Funny, I thought it was the other way around." Putting his weight behind it, he rammed the rifle into the ice again, putting up one arm when some of the snow and ice showered him. "Sight for sore eyes. Hell yeah," his voice got louder as more holes started developing and the sun streamed right through them. 

When they'd managed to clear enough ice to be able to get out, he caught her waist and pulled her close, bringing his mouth down over hers. He'd meant to give her a quick kiss but the instant her lips parted for him, his intentions fell away and he was kissing her for real. 

Sydney melted into the kiss - literally and figuratively. The heat of his mouth on hers was all consuming and their escape suddenly seemed much less important than it had moments ago. Pressing herself up against him, she was tempted to drag him right back to the sleeping bags, but the thought of the frigid air hitting her burning flesh was enough to cause her to draw back and reclaim her secret agent posture. "Dean. Mission. Balthazar will be on the same trail by now..." she gave him a look and arched a brow. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to distract me with your sexpionage..."

"Busted. Guess I got some practicing to do." He had half a mind to talk her back into the sack now that they had secured the way out, but he knew she was right. Putting a little distance between them, he blew out a hot breath. "Who do you think he'll send after us? More Sark-types?" He went deeper into the cave to have one more look at the walls now that they had sunlight, then they'd clear out. 

"I have no idea. You're the one with the angel boyfriend," Sydney smirked as she started rolling up the bedding to pack it away. "This is all new territory for me. What's his M.O.?" 

He scowled at her. "I don't know the guy but, based on my experience with most angels... he's a dick. Could be anything. He could wait until we're headed back, try to hit us then. Or he could play mind games, if he's anything like Zachariah. Hey, take a look at this." When she moved closer, he nodded up, indicating to a groove along the stone surface. His brow knit into a frown as he ran his fingers along it, finding nothing. 

Sydney tucked the sleeping bag into her pack and slung it over her shoulder before standing up and moving over to where Dean was standing. She examined the glyphs along the cave interior that they'd discovered last night, but seeing them bathed in sunlight brought out new details. Her eyes narrowed in on the carved surface and the markings above it. "Hey, that's the symbol from Rambaldi's book... the drawings." She looked over at Dean and then back at the mark. "The Chosen." Even as she said the word, her mind reeled. It was so hard to believe that this ancient prophet had envisioned both her and Dean - drawn their likeness with such detailed accuracy. 

Her gloved hand traced over the indentations and her head tilted. Suddenly, Sydney pulled off her glove so she could feel it with her fingers. "Look. They're hand prints. Two right hands..." Swallowing hard, she looked to Dean. "Take off your right glove," she instructed as she moved her hand into position to fill one of the carved marks. 

"You've got to be kidding me." He wasn't just skeptical about the Rambaldi prophesy, he also hated the idea on principle. Every time someone talked about fate or tried to shove _destiny_ down his throat, nothing good came of it. Biting on the material of his right glove, he pulled it off his hand. "I'm gonna be pissed if this works," he admitted, his eyes meeting hers.

Sydney's mouth pulled into a half smile. "Gee, I'd think you'd be more open-minded, Mr. Supernatural Guy..." she bit her lower lip and coaxed him with a glance to place his hand in the marking. As soon as his flesh connected, the entire cave started to rumble and the stone beneath her hand vibrated. The agent sucked in a breath and waited, but when nothing else happened she said on a hunch, "Push." 

It didn't take much effort for the cave wall to move back, stone grinding against stone as they continued to push it until there was an opening big enough for them to get through. Breathing hard, Sydney reached for her flashlight with her free hand and illuminated steps that seemed to descend down into the mountain itself. "Well? What do you say? Might get us where we're going without all that pesky snow in the way." 

He gave a grunt of acknowledgement, telling himself it was possible any pair of hands would have done the trick. His gaze swept the area that she trained the light on. "Beats getting back on that ledge or climbing. Let's grab our things." Within moments, they had their packs on their backs. She slipped through the gap in the wall before him. "Careful," he said, following her inside and jamming the doorway open with an empty thermos. He hadn't just dug his way out of snow to find himself trapped in rock.

The instant they'd taken a few steps down the stairs carved into the stone, the ground started to vibrate under the force of the door shifting back and lodging against the thermos. The walls started to glow an eerie green, lighting their way. Switching his flashlight off and pocketing it, he caught up with her. "Well, we've got lights. Maybe there's a pot of hot coffee waiting on us at the bottom. And donuts." His stomach growled.

"Yeah, right... maybe if you bat those pretty green eyes of yours, the monks will throw in a sauna and massage," Sydney said with a wry smile as she switched off her own flashlight, not entirely trusting the strangely illuminated rock walls. It was all very cloak and dagger, very much in keeping with what she'd seen of Rambaldi's secrets, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. She still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the fact that both she and Dean were sketched in a manuscript written almost 500 years ago. But then all that paled in comparison to what she'd learned in the past few days about vampires and demons and angels. 

Taking a breath, the agent forged ahead, moving down the narrow stone passageway that wound deep into the mountain. "So, assuming we find the warrior monks, we should probably work out a plan. I assume they won't just hand the spear over, no questions asked..." 

"Maybe you can tell them about the prophesy," he said, giving her a look. "Old monk versus glock 17, I think the glock wins." With the lights turned on, he had to assume that the monks knew they had company, so he reached for his gun. Keeping it lowered for now, he started to take the stairs a little faster. "Ever see The Mummy?" he asked her.

"Boris Karloff or George of the Jungle?" Either way, Sydney was pretty sure she didn't like where this was going. 

"Brendan Fraser, actually. Place feels more like a tomb than anything else. Let's hope what's guarding the sword isn't something like an ancient mummy, or worse." He was only half kidding. The further down they went, the heavier and mustier the air seemed to get. "How far down do you think we are? I can't see the bottom of the stairs," he said, just as he stepped on something that snapped. Glancing down and simultaneously pointing the gun, he saw he'd stepped on bones. Human bones. Down further was the skull that had once been attached to the rest of the skeletal remains.

Sydney turned at the crunch and followed Dean's gaze to see the skull. Great. "Well we were at about eight thousand feet at the cave," she reached to her belt to tip up the altimeter. "We've gone down about 500 feet. Unless this monastery is deep underground, which doesn't make any sense, we should run into it within the next 500 feet or so." She was assuming the monastery was nestled in one of the valleys between peaks, which was why it had remained hidden for so long. 

"About that ancient mummy thing... please tell me you're kidding about that," Sydney said as she continued on past the bones. "And if you're not kidding... what's worse than a mummy?" 

"Lots of things. Usually whatever the monster of the week is, what I'm hunting." Whatever was about to kill you was the worst thing at that moment in time. "Just how many gadgets you got stashed under that jacket? Never mind, I'll figure it out for myself, later," he added, tossing a leer her way but concentrating on their surroundings. 

They were quiet for a while, conserving their air. The exertion was raising Dean's body temperature and he felt a sheen of sweat forming on his brow. If they weren't on the right track, if the sword wasn't here, he was gonna be pissed off. "There... looks like the landing," he said pointing with his chin and gripping his pistol. A few moments later, he slipped through a stone doorway, found what appeared to be an empty room, and lowered his weapon again.

Sydney was about to follow Dean through the doorway when she thought she heard something behind her. She stopped and listened, but she couldn’t be sure. “Did you hear that?” she whispered, straining her ears to pick up what had sounded like the far-off echoes of movement in the passage way from where they’d just come. 

He took a step back and listened. Whatever the sound had been, it wasn’t there anymore. “Rats picking off the guy’s bones?” Waiting another long moment and still hearing nothing, he gave a shrug. It was too long of a hike to go up and check. “Maybe the entrance trying to close.” 

“Maybe,” Sydney said uncertainly. But what else could it be? There hadn’t been any adjoining passages so either something had magically appeared inside, or someone had followed them through the cave entrance. Her agent training told her that either option was impossible, but since Dean had entered her life and turned it upside-down, now she wasn’t so sure anything was impossible. 

Despite her reservations, there wasn’t anything to be done about it, so Sydney followed Dean through the door into the empty room. Torches lit the expansive circular chamber causing shadows to lick across the gleaming marble walls. Obviously someone knew they were coming -- but where were they? Aside from the doorway they’d just come through, there were seven other open arches carved into the marble walls. Which one to take? 

Before they went any further, Sydney dropped her pack and stepped out of her snow suit before she overheated. She also wanted to be able to maneuver if things went badly with the warrior monks. Feeling better with her weapons within easy reach, the agent started moving around the chamber, looking at all the symbols to try and figure out which way they should go. She spotted the now familiar symbol for The Chosen that was carved into one of the arches and gestured to the door. “So Monty... should we see what’s behind door number three?” 

“That makes it easy.” Too easy often meant trouble but maybe this wasn’t one of those times. Stripping his own jacket off and tossing it over her things, he headed for the door with her. Placing his hand over the groove in the stone, he waited for her to put her hand next to his, then they both pushed. Just like in the cave, the wall shifted, opening up into a large chamber.

At the other end of the room, there was a large alter. Seeing the spear laying across it, Dean’s heart gave a tumble. So close. So damned close.

He’d been about to take a step when a shadow moved. He put his arm out, barring Syd’s way, when another shadow moved, and another. Monks, dressing in long robes, started to step out of the pillared arches along the walls of the chamber. “Company,” he warned, lifting his gun and pointing it at the monk that was closest to them, and who was walking toward them.

“Don’t move. Stay right there,” he ordered, his jaw clenching tight when the monk continued to walk toward them.

Instinctively putting her back to Dean, Sydney raised her own weapon, sweeping it from one to the other as they stepped out and surrounded them. When they didn’t make any threatening moves, she lowered the gun and turned to stand beside Dean, while still watching his back. 

The monk was silent for a long moment before he finally lowered the hood of his robe off his head. “You are The Chosen,” he said, his voice so raspy it was as if they were the first words he’d spoken in a very long time. 

“So we keep hearing,” Dean acknowledged, his gun still trained on the man. “We’re here for the spear.” His tone made it clear he intended to take it.

When the monk didn’t speak again and his eyes dropped to the gun, Sydney elbowed Dean in the ribs. “What my fellow Chosen One means is that we’re grateful your guardianship of such an important artifact. We understand the Spear of Longinus has been under your protection for many centuries.” 

When Dean lowered his weapon, the monk nodded. “Our prophets foretold of your coming.” He shifted his steely gaze to Dean. “And you will attest that your woman is pure?” 

Sydney’s eyes widened slightly, but she carefully schooled her features as she looked to Dean, willing him to answer correctly or there might be trouble. 

“What now?” Beyond surprised, Dean blinked a couple of times, before turning to Syd. It was one of those questions that had no right answer, he was pretty damned sure of it. But he was equally sure if he said anything but ‘yes,’ they wouldn’t get the spear without a fight. They could take these monks, he was sure of it, but did he want to take the chance that one of them would slip away with the spear? This place was huge and who knew how many hidden chambers there were?

Clearing his throat, he looked back at the monk and hoped like hell that there wouldn’t be hell to pay for later. “Yeah. Perfectly pure. As pure as... Pure, you know, the detergent.” The monk had no sense of humor, at least from the way his lips thinned.

Certain she’d give herself away, Sydney didn’t dare shoot Dean the stink-eye. _Pure as detergent?_

“Very well,” he said after a long speculative look. With the spear held lengthwise in both hands, he extended his reach toward Sydney, speaking in an unfamiliar language that agent assumed had to be Enochian. 

Swallowing hard and then drawing in a breath, Sydney held out her hands to accept the ancient weapon. As soon as her fingers closed around the shaft, the tip started to glow a molten red. Her eyes widened slightly and she instinctively feinted back just as the monks started to close in around them, drawing weapons from under their cloaks. 

“That just means she’s smokin’ hot,” Dean quickly inserted, stepping between the monks and Syd. “Let’s go home.” Even before he finished the suggestion, Syd had turned and was on her way out. “Dudes, we got this,” Dean told the monks, raising his hands to gesture for them to stop. Why did that only worked in his dreams?

As the monks advanced, Dean ran for the door, overturning a large chest next to it to slow them down. It worked much better than he’d expected because an oil lamp had gone crashing to the ground and the chest and some tapestries hanging on the nearby wall caught fire. Some of the monks were shouting about sacrilege and bending to pick up the items that had fallen to the ground, while others were beating at the flames and trying to put them out. It sucked that the closest fire department was hundreds of miles away.

Seeing that Syd was already at the other end of the large chamber, Dean went to grab their duffel bags, threw them over his shoulder and followed her. “Stairs are...”

A door flew open and several more monks came rushing toward them, swords drawn. “There!” Sydney said gesturing behind the newest threat to indicate the door they’d just come through where she could see a steep set of stone stairs leading upward. Fighting her instinct to draw her gun, she used the spear instead to maneuver her way past them - flipping and spinning around them as best she could. 

“Don’t shoot,” she warned Dean. Despite their current predicament, these were the good guys and she had no intention of leaving any casualties behind. But when one of the monks got her in a choke hold, she wasn’t above using the molten tip to encourage him to release her, spiraling away as he let out a pained shout from the brand impression that was seared into his flesh. “Look, _purity_ is kind of a relative thing, don’t you think?” she tried to reason with them, but it wasn’t working. 

“Easy to say when you’ve got a spear,” Dean muttered, using one of the duffle bags to shield himself from a sword tip, then kicking the monk’s legs out from under him. “You know, bullets don’t kill, it’s bad aim that does.” He wasn’t above shooting below their waists if needed.

Reaching her, he aimed for the knee of the monk about to go after Syd again, but had a better idea. “C’mon, dude, you wouldn’t want the spear to accidentally break, would you?” He tossed Sydney a look and moved in closer, guarding the sword from the others.

Following Dean’s lead, Sydney let the spear slide through her hands until she was wielding it like a baseball bat ready to slam it against a stone sculpture. It was a damn sturdy weapon and she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to break it, but from the way they instantly halted their attacks, it was clear the bluff works. “We’ll take good care of it,” she promised. “We’re the Chosen Ones. Isn’t that what really matters?” 

Rapid-fire discussion broke out among the monks. “Is that good, or bad?” Dean asked, since the monks had switched to Italian, probably not realizing at least one of them spoke it. Before she answered, new sounds started filling and echoing in the chamber. Turning his head sharply toward the door that went to the stairs, he saw a bunch of men in dark suits entering. Had they been followed from the cave down to here? 

“Now _that_ can’t be good,” he said, jerking his jaw. “We got company. Vamps,” he said loudly, not only to Syd, but to the monks. The light clothes and the sunglasses tucked up on their heads or hanging from cords around their necks were the giveaway. 

Dropping the bags, Dean popped off a couple of rounds, slowing the approaching vamps slightly. “Gimme that,” without permission, he wrested a sword out of a monk’s hand. “Decap, it’s what you gotta do to kill them,” he explained, as he quickly pulled a large jar out of the duffel bag and dipped the sword tip into dead man’s blood. “This will paralyze them. All of you, use it.” 

Leaving it on the ground,” he looked at Syd, “dip the spear in too,” he called out, pushing forward and demonstrating the effect of the blood and how to kill a vampire.

Sydney’s mind whirled, years of agent training leaving her woefully unprepared for what Dean was suggesting. It took a flash of jagged, razor-sharp fangs ripping out the throat of one of the monks to move her to action. But before she could reach the blood, one of the monks rushed her, speaking in clipped Italian warning her not to taint the sacred spear. 

All the while, warrior monks were dropping into the chamber from high ledges and it appeared that they were at least holding their own against the dark-suited vampires. First bike, now mafia types? What was next... ninja vampires? The thought barely registered before Sydney found that both she and Dean were being ushered through a passage she hadn’t seen before. 

“They’re saying they’ll hold them off... give us time to escape,” Sydney translated for Dean before she responded with a grateful thank-you. Apparently there were worse fates than leaving their precious spear in the custody of a Chosen One who was less than pure.

It went against the grain, to run when others stayed to fight, but more than anything, Dean wanted to get the spear out of there. It was his one chance at getting his brother back. And yeah, maybe he should be more worried about just keeping the spear from others, but screwed up priorities were nothing new to him. 

As they ran, a loud rumbling sounded. Syd’s hair whipped against his face when she abruptly turned her face. They saw that a wall was sliding out of place and, beyond it, was snow and sun. He gave her a nod, and then they both ran for it, lengthening their strides when they saw that the wall was already sliding back to close.

“Go, go, go,” he shouted, putting his hand on her back and giving her a shove right as she got to the exit. In the next instant, he felt her hand clamp around his clothes and he was pulled out after her.

Most of their equipment was gone. Their jackets had been left behind and if they didn’t get out of the cold soon, they were toast. “Cas, get your ass down here,” Dean shouted as they continued to run, hoping that since this was the base of the cliff, Cas could get to them.

Sydney’s adrenaline was pumping hard enough so that she didn’t feel the cold, despite the subzero temperatures whipping around their bodies. When it seemed clear that they weren’t being followed, she pulled Dean into a crevice in the rock wall. Pushing her hair off her face, she turned to him, cheeks and nose pink as numbness started to settle in. “You think they’ll be okay? If those... those vampires are anything like the Death Lords...” her voice trailed off with worry. Were the monks prepared to deal with the supernatural element? It didn’t seem fair that they’d just left them. 

She gripped the spear tightly and her jaw set in a hard line. She had to stay on mission -- even if it was no longer CIA mission. It was Dean’s mission to get his brother back. 

He opened his mouth, wanting to tell her he was sure everything would be fine, but the lie stuck in his throat. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Last I saw, there were more monks getting there so they might have the numbers. They know how to fight and they know the temple, could give them an advantage.” He took a deep breath but the air was so frigid, it hurt his lungs. “Everything they gave up, everything they did to keep the spear protected would be for nothing if we’d stayed. We had no choice.” He knew damn well that having no choice didn’t ease the guilt and didn’t make you any less sad about a tragedy.

Sydney nodded. She knew he was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.   
She leaned into Dean, slipping her arms around him. But body heat wasn’t going to save them this time. Without any kind of protection, they’d succumb to hypothermia before they could find shelter. Blinking rapidly to fend off the emotion, she tilted her face up to the heavens. “Castiel?” she swallowed hard, not feeling like she had any right to call on an angel. “Uh... we need an extraction.” 

After waiting a moment, Dean called out again. “C’mon Cas, we need to get outta here, pronto. Freezing out asses off...” He made a face when nothing happened. Rubbing her arms, he looked upward. “It’s now or never. Balty’s right behind--”

Appearing before them, Castiel sharply turned his head to the right, then left, as if waiting for something, and then Dean felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder and braced. In a split second, they were yanked out of their snowy surroundings and found themselves standing next to the Impala, in front of a small motel. 

The sun was beating down on them, though it wasn’t overly warm. Dean wiped his hand over the hood of the car, then wiped the dust off on his jeans. “Looks like me and you are gonna have to find some alone time,” he told the car, shrugging off the looks from Syd and Castiel. 

“Balthazar was nowhere near.”

“My mistake,” Dean answered Cas. “Hey, I was freezing my dick off... no not literally,” he rolled his eyes as the angel’s gaze travelled downwards over his body. 

“Thank you,” Sydney flashed the angel a grateful smile. “We got it,” she lifted the spear and saw that the tip was no longer glowing hot. She hoped that was a good sign. Her gaze bounced between Cas and Dean. “So... this means we can get your brother back... Right?” 

“You’re welcome,” Castiel gave Sydney a nod, then put his hand out to stop Dean from answering. “You should reconsider. There is a strong possibility that if you’re successful, he will come back _wrong_. Dean, this is _not_ like me pulling you out of hell. You were part of the general population tortured by demons. Sam is in a small cage under the constant attention of Lucifer himself. There may be nothing left of him to save.”

Dean felt like he’d been kicked in the gut, even though he knew everything Cas said was true. Sam had been in the cage for much longer than Dean had been in hell. If he felt he’d come back a little wrong, what would Sam be like? He lifted his chin. “Maybe. But you can’t know that, you don’t know Sam like I know him. He’s a stubborn sonovabitch.” Looking away, Dean ran a hand through his hair and turned back, looking more determined than ever. “I can’t leave his soul there like that, I can’t. Even if it means I might have to...” He closed his eyes for a moment, his father’s last words still haunting him. Wouldn’t it be ironic if he had to kill his brother, not because he’d been evil, but because he’d done, if not the _right_ thing, the thing that saved the world? 

The color drained from Sydney’s face as she listened to the exchange. Dean had been in Hell? And Castiel had... brought him back? It seemed impossible, but wasn’t that just exactly what the spear was supposed to do for his brother? It’s what she’d been fighting for. She wasn’t sure why she’d accepted that as a possibility, but the idea that Dean had died... it struck her hard. But she couldn’t lose it now. She could see the anguish in his face and she went to him, her hand on his chest so she could feel his heart beating beneath her touch. 

“It’s not going to come to that,” she told him with firm conviction. “You’re going to get him back, and he’ll be just fine. Just like you.” She was scared to death that it wasn’t true, but she didn’t let it show on her face as she looked up at him, her jaw set in a hard line. “So let’s just do this. What is it going to take? My blood, right...?” Her fist tightened on his shirt for a moment before she drew in a breath to steel herself. 

Exhaling in a long slow breath, she held Dean’s gaze without wavering and held out the spear. “Take it.” 

The tug on his shirt brought Dean out of it. There were a thousand ways it could all go wrong. He knew that. Cas knew that. Maybe she knew that, and maybe she didn’t. But she believed, and that had to count for something. Believed and was ready to help, to give her own blood for his brother. 

Dean gave her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s going to be fine,” he agreed, reaching for the spear. As he closed his fingers around it, his hand touched hers. A soft, electrical hum was all the warning they got before the spear started to vibrate. “Yeah, _we’re_ getting him back, in one piece,” he said with more certainly in his voice.

Sydney sucked in a sharp breath and her eyes darted to the shaft of the spear that vibrated beneath her touch -- _their_ touch. Further validation that this is something they were meant to do together. That they were meant to _be_ together. 

“I think it’s telling us to get this show on the road, huh?” her expression broke into a dimpled smile. He looked so serious. He should be happy. They were almost there. “So what’s next? Isn’t there usually a chicken or goat involved in these ritual things...?” she said only half-joking. She hoped that wasn’t the case. 

“Sacrifice is often an element.” Some say it is a barter but in truth...”

Dean’s mind tuned Castiel’s explanation out as he was reminded of his earlier fears. A blood sacrifice was required. Sydney’s. But how much of it? What was the true cost of getting his brother back? What if the cost was too high. What if the ritual would harm her? Even if he hadn’t fallen for her hard, if she hadn’t come to mean as much as she did to him, he could never have traded her life for Sam’s. She wasn’t some demon, something to be used as a bargaining chip. There was a real chance that he was about to hit another road block. 

“Dean,” Castiel repeated.

“Huh, what?” Dean raised his gaze, then looked at the two of them, his hand tightening around the spear.

“The ritual. What does it entail?”

“I don’t know, I haven’t finished translating it. It’s complicated. All we know is Syd’s blood might be needed.” Dean glanced at Sydney, “hopefully a few spoonfuls will do it, or else I don’t know how your guy Sark planned to take it from you.” There was a world of fears behind his words, though Dean did his best to hide it. 

“That’s unlikely. Let me see the manuscript, I will aid you in this.” 

Castiel’s words gave Dean no comfort as he went to the back of the car to get his notes and the manuscript out.

Letting go of the spear so Dean could take it with him as he moved away, Sydney stood stock still, her smile vanished. The look he’d sent her when he’d talked about her blood -- he was worried. He was worried that this ritual would kill her. Despite knowing that couldn’t be true, Sark had told her as much, she was struck by the thought that it was in Dean’s mind. Would he trade her life for his brother’s? She swallowed hard. She couldn’t put him in that position. Not even hypothetically. 

She joined him as he was fishing around in the trunk of his car. She touched his back. “Dean, it should only take a small amount. A couple vials. Sark told me...” 

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, not until he found the book he’d put the manuscript page in. Then he closed the secret compartment in the trunk and turned to look at her. “I hope so. They lie. Demons, angels... Balthazar.” Hearing her draw in her breath, he realized he might be scaring her. And if she was, she had good cause. Her survival instincts must be screaming at her to run, and the fact that she wasn’t doing that, that maybe she trusted him that much, it humbled him.

“Syd,” he put his own hand on her back, then drew her close to him, resting his chin on her shoulder. “I won’t hurt you, or ask you for anything you don’t want to give. Not saying there wasn’t a time when I wouldn’t have done anything, anything to get him back.” In the weeks after he’d first lost Sam, there were times he’d been ready to visit a damned cross roads demon and start the cycle all over again. Then he’d numbed those thoughts out of himself with alcohol. “Not now. And never to you,” he said, pulling his head back so she could see his eyes. 

Sydney’s heart swelled and emotion filled her eyes. She nodded wordlessly and pushed up on her toes to give him a meaningful kiss, her lips lingering against his even as she dropped back down. “I love you,” she told him, never more certain of anything in her life. 

Sliding his hand up to the back of her neck, he caressed her jaw with his thumb. “Me too. I love you,” he answered simply, his voice low and a little rough edged. Lifetimes ago, he’d dreamed of finding someone he could share his life with, have a home and pets with, live a “normal” life with. But life had shown him over and over that there was no such option for a hunter. He’d given up on it, really. But now...

Leaning in, he kissed her again. Maybe there wouldn’t be a house, with a two car garage, a picket fence, and scheduled date nights. But maybe he didn’t want that anymore. He could be with Sydney, could love her and wouldn’t have to hide the fact for fear of bringing danger to her doorstep. This woman, she could deal with anything a hunter could, of that he was sure. 

Just as he molded her body closer, he felt the book he was holding against her back get pulled out of his hand. Lifting his head, he found Castiel standing right behind her and staring down at the manuscript.

Rolling his eyes, he let out a hot breath and gave her a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

Following Dean’s gaze, Sydney turned her head to see the angel standing right behind her, clearly oblivious of the intimacy of the moment. She turned back and returned a warm smile. “Should we take this whole ritual thing someplace a little less...” she glanced around the dingy parking lot of the Motel 6. “...public?” 

 

“I came through here a few years back. There’s an old silver mine outside of town and some abandoned structures next to it. It’s out of the way,” Dean said. “What do we need for the ritual?”

 

Having committed the ritual to memory, Castiel answered immediately. “It’s much simpler than I would have thought. A few herbs and holy water, which you should have. Blood,” his gaze cut to Sydney, “and fire. The spearhead.”

 

“Alright, let’s do it.” Dean unlocked the car door and pulled it open. Now that the moment of truth was here, he almost felt sick to his stomach. They were on the cusp of something, but if they failed, he’d have to start all over again. Or he could have his brother back in a few hours. He looked at Sydney over the roof of his car, gave her a nod, and got inside.

 

* * * 

 

The wooden structure was large and dilapidated. Its corrugated tin roof was rusted and full of holes. A musty smell permeated the place.

 

They cleared the center area of a large room, pushing away long tables and benches. It was likely that this had been some sort of dining hall for the miners. 

 

Sydney washed and cleansed the spearhead with holy water and laid it down in the chalk circle Dean had drawn. Then Castiel asked her to pour a line of holy oil right outside the chalk circle. 

 

On all fours, Dean drew some of the symbols that were common in many rituals, while Castiel made some markings that Dean had never seen before. He was almost done when he saw Castiel approach Sydney.

 

“Give me your hand,” Cas said, stretching his arm out. In his other hand, he held a long dagger. “Dean, bring the bowl.”

 

Sydney looked at Castiel, her eyes going a little wide. She’d been so focused on doing exactly what they told her and trying to understand the cryptic symbols that she hadn’t really thought about what this all meant. Everything they’d done over the past few weeks had led up to this moment. Everything they’d learned about each other and themselves. It even went back thousands of years to Rambaldi... 

 

It was a lot to take. Her shoulders felt heavy and her chest felt tight, but when she turned her head to meet Dean’s gaze, she knew everything would be okay. With a slight nod, she extended her hand to the angel. 

 

Having grabbed the metal bowl, Dean touched Castiel’s arm. “Let me do it,” he said, exchanging the bowl for the dagger. 

 

“Wish I could say it’s not gonna hurt,” Dean said, turning her hand over so that its back rested in his palm. “I’ll be quick,” he promised, making sure the blade was very sharp. “You ready?” 

 

When she gave a barely perceptible nod, he closed his hand around hers firmly enough to draw her attention to his tight grip, distracting her for the split second it took to drag the dagger across her inner arm. Immediately, blood welled up and started to drip from it. Turning her hand around so the blood would be caught in the bowl, he gave her a reassuring smile. “I know how weird this is. Thank you.” His gaze was locked with hers and it was like he forgot about the angel’s presence. 

 

To her credit, Sydney didn’t even wince. She was so focused on holding Dean’s gaze that she barely noticed. “No weirder than...” she paused when she couldn’t think of a single thing in her long list of strange encounters that even compared to the last few weeks with Dean. “Okay, well, never a dull moment, right?” she smiled, effectively covering how badly her nerves were fluttering. This had to work. _It had to._

 

He gave her a look, like he’d known she couldn’t come up with anything weirder, at least not if it was something from her own life rather than the things she’d become involved in on the hunting side of things. “Right.”

 

“Actually, there are a lot of dull moments.” Castiel corrected both of them, watching as the bowl filled. “Waits between cases. Hours spent in bars, wasting time, endlessly long drives.” 

 

Sydney turned to the angel and cocked an amused brow. “Anybody ever tell you you’re a buzz kill, Cas?” The funny thing was, it was the same thing for her. Between cases she had time for classes, working out at the gym, reading books... and now she could imagine filling those times with Dean. “I can think of a few ways we could make those moments less dull...” her eyes dragged back to Dean before she let them drop to the bowl that was filling with a thick pool of blood. 

 

“Don’t ask how,” Dean told Cas before the question came out of Castiel’s mouth. “I’m taking you up on that agent Bristow,” he told her, his tone formal, but his eyes reflecting the mischief in hers. 

 

“We have enough,” Cas announced. 

 

Dean immediately used some wet gauze to clean up her wound, then pressed a fresh clean one over it. “There are Band-Aids in the bag,” he said, using his chin to point. He gave her hand a light squeeze before he released her.

 

Following Castiel, Dean grabbed one of the brushes and started to paint the floor with her blood. Cas had made some chalk markings for him to follow, so he didn’t need to look at the manuscript as he did it. “How’s your Latin, Ms. ‘if it’s a language, then I speak it?’” he asked Syd. 

 

“Well there’s not much call for dead languages in my profession,” Sydney said as she wrapped her arm. “So I wouldn’t say I’m fluent, but I could read something. “What do you need?” she stepped carefully, making sure not to disturb any of their markings. 

 

“The ritual is in Latin. We’ll be reading from the manuscript. If something happens to one of us, the others must continue the chant. No matter what, we’re finishing what we start.” 

 

Cas set the bowl outside the circle and stood, rubbing his hands together to get rid of the chalk and blood. He passed the manuscript to Sydney. “I won’t need it,” he said.

 

Dean got up and looked around. “Guess we’re ready. Move inside the circle, and don’t leave it, no matter what.” He could see she had questions about what could make her want to leave the circle. “Rituals are different. Sometimes things go flying, you just never know. But it will be safe in the circle.” 

 

“I’ve seen Poltergeist. I got it,” Sydney said as if making light of the situation would make her less nervous. It wasn’t working. She stepped into the circle and looked down at the manuscript, silently mouthing the words to practice the pronunciation as they finished putting the finishing touches on the markings. As she finished the passage, the ground beneath her feet started to rumble. 

 

“What the...” Realizing her practice run had started the ritual, Dean kicked a brush out of the circle and grabbed his lighter. Another rumble had him stumbling a little. “Damn...”

 

“Well fancy that,” a pretentiously toned voice came from somewhere behind them. “And here I would have thought it would be your boy, Dean, that would have the problem of finishing prematurely,” Balthazar stepped out from the shadows at the other end of the large structure, wagging his finger at Sydney. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you that when you move your lips during silent reading, it counts?” The rumbling continued and the entire structure started to shake as he neared the ritual set-up. 

 

Sydney's eyes grew wide with panic. _What had she done?_

 

Dean’s eyes widened, then narrowed. He didn’t care who the fuck that was, the ritual was going forward. 

 

“Cas, I’m disappointed you didn’t invite me to the party... I would have dressed up,” Balthazar gestured to his casual slacks and a v-neck cashmere sweater. “At least you brought the party favor,” he reached out and the spear flew toward his hand, but stopped in mid-air. 

 

“Balthazar.” Cas had his own hand raised and was keeping the spear inside the circle. “This belongs in heaven. I will not allow you to defile it and sell it to the highest bidder.”

 

“You and me, both,” Dean ground out, quickly grabbing the spear from out of the air. He had to tug on it, hard, before he was able to pull it back into the middle of the circle. “Syd,” he called her over and then read over her shoulder, chanting the words with her. He felt another pull on the spear, and placed it on the ground, using his knee to trap it against the ground.

 

The rumbling increased and they had to raise their voices. Some of the blood markings on the ground started to glow and tiny fissures appeared on the floor. Dean’s heart started to race when he saw the red glow coming through the cracks.

 

Sydney knew she’d screwed up, but she couldn’t worry about that now. All she could do was keep going and try not to be distracted by the cocky guy that seemed to be giving Cas a run for his money. As she continued the chant, the air around them started to gather, whipping her hair against her face. 

 

“Cas, don’t be a fool! Why are you allowing this?” Balthazar snapped, perturbed that he wasn’t strong enough to wrench the spear from the circle. Trying a new tactic, he concentrated his efforts on lifting the girl’s blood, scraping the symbols off the floor before the fissures could connect to open the gate. 

 

Still chanting, Sydney let out a scream as she felt her skin split, blood dripping from open gashes to pour into the cracks to replace what the angel was depleting. Her eyes were wide with terror, but since the ritual seemed to be continuing, she powered through the agony and continued the chant. 

 

“Be a good boy and let go of the spear and I’ll put her blood right back where it belongs,” Balthazar promised. 

 

“NO!” Sydney gasped out, turning to look at Dean. “Don’t let go.” She said, even as she felt the blood draining from her face. 

 

“Syd...” Could he go on when she was standing there, blood pouring in rivulets from new cuts along her arms, dripping to the floor in unknown quantities? He looked down at the cracks, now wide enough to reveal the fires of hell. He could feel the heat of the flames, hear their roar, and he knew his brother was in there. 

 

For a moment, Dean was paralyzed by indecision, yet she picked up the chant and kept going. “Cas, do something,” he yelled, reading with her again, but stepping up the pace. They were too close to stop, too close.

 

The room started to shake, this time not just because of the opening in the ground, but because the two angels were in combat, throwing each other against walls hard enough to make the building shake. Her blood kept running and the spear started to move from side to side, threatening to get ripped away from Dean. Dean started to shout out the last verses, grabbing the manuscript with her, closing his hand around her now blood slicked hand. “Cas!”

 

“The oil, light it,” Cas yelled as he brought his fist down, growling in frustration when Balthazar moved and his fist went through the wall.

 

Flicking the lighter, Dean set the circle of holy oil on fire around them. The spear stopped fighting him, stopped trying to get out of his grasp. He looked at Sydney and held her hand tighter right before they read the last words on the paper.

 

With her last ounce of strength depleted, Sydney slumped in Dean’s arms, her body limp and her breathing shallow. The last thing she remembered before she fell unconscious was being bathed in a light so bright she felt like she was floating into the heavens. 

 

The light spilling out of the cracks intensified. Surrounded by the painfully blinding white light, all Dean could do was hold her limp body in his arms and bury his face in her neck and promise her it would be alright. The room, the entire structure rocked so hard that the roof and walls started to cave in. Dean shouted, fighting the instinct to lift her up and walk out of the circle to find safety. 

 

Then it all went absolutely quiet. The light receded and the ground closed up, leaving behind a fine fog of dust. As it settled, Dean saw Sam laying face down on the ground arms stretched out above his head like he’d been reaching for something. “Sam! Sammy!” he shouted, finally getting up, with Syd still in his arms.

 

By the time he almost reached Sam, Castiel was there too. There was no sign of Balthazar, but the spear was in Cas’ hand. Cas calmly placed his hand on Syd’s forehead.

 

All at once, Sydney’s eyes flew open and she sucked in a breath. When she saw the look in Dean’s eyes as he stared at a spot just past her, she whipped her face around and saw a man laying face down. Sam. It had to be. “Is he...?” she asked, her voice trembling.

 

His voice caught in his throat so all Dean could do was give a grunt and a nod. He released his hold on her and almost before she was steady on her own feet, he scrambled over to Sam and rolled him onto his back. “Sam,” he whispered hoarsely one hand cupping the back of Sam’s neck, the other grabbing his shoulder, shaking him lightly. “Sammy?”

 

There was no response. Sam was as limp and lifeless as Sydney had been moments ago. “Cas, help him,” he demanded. “Help him.”

 

Giving a small nod, Cas bent down once again, this time placing his hand on Sam’s forehead. When nothing happened, his lips tightened. Slowly, he looked up. “I’m sorry Dean, there is nothing I can do.”

 

“Try it again. God dammit, put your hand back and try again,” Dean shouted. “You can’t just give up. You _help_ him.”

 

“He’s beyond my help. A battle is being waged inside him. If he is to come out of this, he is the only one who can win that battle. Are you prepared? He may not come out of it at all, or he may not come out of it... whole.”

 

Castiel’s matter of fact tone pissed Dean the hell off. “There’s nothing to get prepared for. He’s out of that place, and he’s gonna come out of this.”

 

Cas merely cocked his head to the side. “Do you want me to take him to your room?”

 

“We could go to my place,” Sydney suggested, worry creased into her frown. “Nobody would know to look for you guys there. It should be safer... don’t you think?” she looked to Cas, wanting to help however she could. 

 

“Even if Balthazar knows you no longer have the spear, his _associates_ might want to seek revenge,” Cas agreed.

 

Dean was torn. He didn’t want to bring danger to Syd’s house, but then again, if they were going to make a go of this, then the fear that he’d bring unwanted company had to be taken out of the equation. They would both have to live with that possibility, for as long as they were together. He could, of course, take Sam to Bobby’s, but the hunter was already broken up by Sam’s fate. Giving the man hope when none of them knew whether Sam would pull through, would be cruel.

 

“You know what you’re volunteering for?” Dean asked, locking gazes with Sydney. When her eyes didn’t waver, “Syd’s place,” he decided.

 

* * * 

 

Dean paced the length of the living room of the neat, two bedroom house. He’d expected something fancy or luxurious, maybe because of the types of hotels they’d stayed in on the CIA’s dime, and because of the clothes he’d seen her wear. Instead, he found that her place was very comfortable and had a nice, lived in feel to it. It was nice to know that someone who did what she did for a living could have a semblance of a “normal” life, at least when she was home.

 

She was inside, in her bedroom, making calls to her handlers and explaining how they’d _lost_ the spear. Meanwhile, Sam was in the guest bedroom. It had been about four hours, and he was still out cold. Dean had watched over him for a while, but then he hadn’t been able to keep still any longer. Now he found himself pacing, then going into the hall and checking on Sam from the doorway.

 

He couldn’t help wondering whether this was futile. Would Sam ever wake? And if he did, would he be himself or just a ghost of himself? Castiel’s warnings disturbed him far more than he cared to admit. There was also that small voice in his head, reminding him of the consequences of having brought Sam back from death before. A lot of heartache had come from that. Though he’d like to say he’d learned his lesson, Dean wasn’t sure that faced with the same situation, he wouldn’t have done it all over again. Even if he’d demanded that Sam not make any deals to get him back from hell. This was different though. This wasn’t cheating death. It was cheating the devil. Yeah... he knew the look Sam would give him if he got the opportunity to explain why this, what he was doing, was okay. 

 

Sydney hated lying to Michael, but there was no way she could let the CIA know that she’d relinquished the spear to an angel. Despite their newfound knowledge of the supernatural, she was pretty sure they wouldn’t believe it anyway. She wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize Dean’s brother. 

 

After finishing her calls, she moved toward the hall and intercepted Dean’s pacing. “Anything?” she asked, her hand running up and down his arms to try and soothe the tension from his muscles. 

 

“No. Nothing,” he said, looking down at her. “From the looks of it, it could be a while.” He wasn’t going to admit any possibility that it could also be ‘never.’ “You. Is everything alright?” he asked, cocking his head to the side and searching her face. He knew he’d put her in a tough spot.

 

Sydney nodded solemnly as she looked off toward the room where Sam was. “Yeah, Michael will smooth things over, at least for now.” Her eyes swung back up to Dean’s and she slipped her arms around his chest. “Are you sure you don’t want to me to try and see if SD-6 knows how to... bring him out of this?” It was a longshot, and an extremely risky one at that, but up until a few weeks ago, the double-agent had no idea the covert agency had an entire division dedicated to the supernatural. “I’m sure I could convince Sloan...”

 

Dean’s eyes closed for a moment as he accepted the comfort she offered and thought over her suggestion. “If Castiel can’t do anything, then I don’t think some agency can,” he finally said, slowly turning around to face her. “Probably shouldn’t involve more people anyway.” Course if he became desperate, he’d probably knock at every available door, including this mysterious department of the CIA. 

 

“I could use a drink, you? I can head to the store and …” he’d seen that the Impala was parked outside the house. 

 

“Oh, I’ve got beer in the fridge,” she said, her hand slipping down his arm to take his hand to lead him toward the kitchen. “And I’m sure I have something stronger... Francie and I used to throw the occasional party before,” her voice trailed off and she waved it away. The story was way too complicated and not at all relevant to what was happening now. 

 

Sydney moved to the cupboard and looked at the bottles. “Vodka, gin, rum, tequila... or wine?” she looked over the shoulder and scrunched up her nose. She really couldn’t picture Dean holding a glass of chardonnay. “How about a tequila shot with beer chaser?” 

 

“Shots and beer, let’s do it,” he agreed, giving her a slight grin. He went to lean against the counter as she set up their drinks. “Francie? Your roommate?” he asked, having noted some of the pictures on her shelf. One woman appeared in quite a few, and he’d seen a picture of her in the room Sam was in now, though it had been decorated differently. “She get married and move out?” he guessed.

 

“Yeah... not so much,” Sydney managed with a shake of her head. She pulled down the bottle of tequila and grabbed a couple of shot glasses. “You really want to know?” she looked over at Dean who had grabbed the beers from the fridge. On his nod, she shrugged as she poured out a couple of shots.

 

“Francie was murdered and replaced by a Russian assassin who was surgically altered to be a perfect doppelganger of her... fooled me for a long time. Fooled my best friend, Will, and he was sleeping with her.” She took a breath and held up the shot glass to clink against his. 

 

“Now we both _really_ need this drink,” he said, thoughts of having been fooled by the possessed versions of his father and Sam crowding his mind. Knocking back the shot, he set the small glass on the counter and wiped his mouth, waiting for her to put her glass down. 

 

“I know how you feel. No, I mean I really know,” he said, cupping the side of her face. “Our lives might be a hundred and eighty degrees apart, but in some ways...” Pressing his lips together, he nodded to one side, instead of verbalizing the rest. 

 

Sydney nodded. He didn’t have to finish, she knew he understood. Just the fact that he didn’t even bat an eye at the weirdness of it spoke volumes. He’d been through similar situations and much worse, she would bet. She tilted her head into his hand and offered him a smile. “So yeah, I don’t have the best luck with roommates,” she capped off that story before picking up the bottle of tequila and beer along with her glass and held it all to her chest so she could move over to the couch. She jerked her head in a gesture for Dean to join her. 

 

When she was curled up next to him with their shot glasses filled again, she asked,

 

“So what’s your doppelganger story?” 

 

“Too many to count, starting with a serial killer shapeshifter that took my form. Seriously, I was wanted for the murders until I died, or the records said I did. Worst time? My dad,” he said, his voice dropping down a little. “He was possessed by a demon. I let down my guard, because it was my dad and...” he shook his head. “It was a close call. He’d have killed me... both of us,” he said looking toward the hallway door, “if Sam hadn’t had the guts to shoot him.” 

 

He gave her some more details as he opened his beer, but couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the time Sam had been possessed and killed a bunch of hunters. He wasn’t sure she could handle that, he wasn’t sure anyone should be able to handle that. “What happened with Francie’s double? How’d you find out and stop her,” he asked, scooting back on the couch and putting his arm across its back, resting his palm on her shoulder.

 

Sydney opened her beer and took a drink as she organized her thoughts. She went on to tell him about how she found out about the double and ended up shooting her right here in the apartment after a brutal struggle. Her friend Will was nearly dead in her bathtub. The house held so many terrible memories, she wasn’t sure why she wanted to come back to it after her two years of lost time -- maybe because it was the only thing that was familiar to her. 

 

Several more shots later, the conversation had moved from her roommate to Sydney’s former fiancé, who she’d met through Francie. She was loose enough from the shots to be able to get through the painful story of how SD-6 had assassinated Danny after she told him about being a double-agent. And next came Michael -- how she’d fallen for her handler, but he’d moved on after thinking she’d been dead for two years. 

 

“So yeah... not such good luck with roommates or boyfriends,” Sydney said with wry smile as she poured them both another shot. “You sure you want the job?” She leaned in to give him a kiss before pulling back and tossing back the tequila. “Your turn. Tell me about all the lucky ladies in Dean’s Winchester’s life,” she said with amused grin.

 

He gave a snort at that. “I don’t think there are any.” Looking down, he played with her hair, running his fingers through it. “I move around a lot. Growing up, it was an unspoken rule that we couldn’t get involved. Didn’t mean it always worked out that way,” he shrugged. He told her a little about Cassie, making it clear he didn’t blame her for not wanting to be with a hunter and that he thought she’d been smart to make that decision. 

 

Then he told her about Lisa. Course he didn’t dwell on the three days they’d spent locked up at her place doing nothing but sleeping and having sex. He did tell her about having tried to recapture the feeling from the past, of having ended up on her doorstep after he’d lost Sam. “It wasn’t just that the feelings weren’t there or that they were different,” he admitted. “It’s that I wasn’t the same. I drank a lot. I brought my troubles home. I couldn’t let … couldn’t let it go, I had to get Sam back. To do that, I had to get back into the game, the hunting game, and that meant putting her and her son in danger, and I couldn’t. They were better off without me, and I … I had to let go of an old fantasy that wasn’t there anymore.”

 

Bringing the bottle to his mouth, he took a long drink. “So, this Michael, he’s Vaughn, your handler,” he concluded, looking at her. 

 

“Yeah,” she nodded as she picked at the label on the beer bottle before finally looking up at him through her lashes. “He’s married now. To an agent.. she’s CIA too.” She lifted her shoulder and made a face that made it clear she didn’t like Lauren much. It wasn’t that she was still pining over Michael - there was just something about the woman Sydney didn’t trust. “But they seem really happy. And I’m happy for him,” she said genuinely, even if it still stung just a little. 

 

“He doesn’t like you much though,” Sydney added with a grin. “I’m pretty sure he knows there’s something going on here...” she nuzzled a little closer and curled herself against him. “There _is_ something going on here... right?” she tilted her head sideways to look up at him with a playful smile. “Because I’d hate to think my handler is being overprotective for no reason.” 

 

“Since I think I’m really starting to hate your handler, he must be onto something,” grinning back, he pulled her close and gave her a slow, lingering kiss. “Yeah, he’s definitely onto something.”

They both got comfortable, knowing they might be in for a long wait. As they talked and told each other about themselves, their past, Dean was sure that she was holding some things back, same as he was. Their lives were full of secrets, they were the same that way. Maybe one day they could lay out all their cards, but for now, this was good... it was enough, it was more than he’d been able to share with anyone else. Mostly, it felt right.


	9. Chapter 9

[A few days later]

 

The sounds in his head quieted down. The fires died away. There was silence. Just soothing silence. If only he could enjoy it. But after years... decades of lulls that preceded never-ending storms, Sam knew better. Much better. His only pleasure was in not allowing Lucifer to win the emotional games. 

 

He slowly opened his eyes, having no idea where he’d be _this time._ For years, he’d start to find comfort in Jessica’s arms, and then she’d turn into that sadistic bastard, Lucifer. Then he’d fall into Ruby’s arms, and the same shit happened. And he knew… he knew when a sequence started, but he couldn’t break free of it, fight it, not for decades on end. When he’d started to be able to, Luci just started playing new tricks.

 

The last time Sam had found peace, it was in a harem. Soft candlelight, warm pools, women he’d never met before offering him kindness, and warmth. And then he was in the jaws of yet another one of Lucifer’s tricks, that turned into a nightmare, and months long battles with Sam’s flesh getting repeatedly burned off down to his charred bones.

 

As he sat up on the bed, Sam decided this was one of the worst tricks. He wasn’t in some mansion, or on some beautiful beach. He was in a normal place, a house or apartment. Nothing special about it. Just real.

 

Too real.

 

He paced the room for a few minutes. Did he want to pretend for a while, or was it better to pierce the fantasy and get back to the reality of his hell? He didn’t even know.

 

A few more minutes passed, before Sam slowly opened the door and walked out, his eyes sweeping across the hallway as he headed toward the light source coming from another room.

 

Steam rolled out from behind Sydney as she stepped out of the bathroom rubbing her wet hair with a towel on her way to finish dressing in the bedroom she shared with Dean . She stopped short when she heard the sound of someone else in the apartment. Assuming Dean had gotten back early, she broke out in a toothy smile as the figure emerged from the hallway. 

 

"Sam!" her eyes went bright with surprise and she was so taken aback by the sight of Dean's brother that she forgot she was dressed only in bra and panties. "You're awake!" she started forward, her expression open as she greeted the man she’d never met, but felt she already knew so well. 

 

 _Not bad Luci. Not bad at all,_ Sam thought as his gaze narrowed on the next temptation Lucifer threw his way. This time, he was going to land a few good punches before Lucifer had his way.

 

“Bring it,” Sam snarled and ran for her, refusing to be disarmed by her soft smile. She was the devil, and she’d pay for as long as Sam could give some payback. 

 

Shock gave way to reflex as the agent's ingrained training kicked in. Sydney wedged her elbow under his arm and feinted to the side, kicking her legs up to jerk herself free of Sam's chokehold before he could get a proper grip. Instinctively, she spun and used his much larger frame to her advantage, ducking low and striking hard against the back of his knee to force him to buckle, whipping the towel around his neck to gain some much needed leverage. 

 

"Sam," she gasped, struggling to counter his moves. She'd tangled enough with Dean to recognize his fighting style and it came as no surprise that he was quick on his feet -- even after laying in a coma for weeks. "Please, stop. I don't want to hurt you." 

 

He curled his arm around the towel and yanked it, bringing her close enough to tackle her. He gripped her jaw and forced her to look at him, trying to see straight through those eyes into the fires of Lucifer’s soul. “The hell you don’t.” He backhanded her and was about to push his forearm against her larynx when she swept her leg around him. He was a little surprised that she didn’t toss him right off. “Staying in character?” he asked, forcing his way back to a sitting position despite the pressure of her leg trying to push him back. 

 

"Staying in character?" Sydney said, her eyes wide with confusion and shock. Dean had been afraid that Sa, might come back... wrong. Cas had warned them. But no. It couldn't be. For Dean's sake... he had to be okay. Sydney wasn't prepared to see Dean let down after all they'd been through to get to this moment. To see Sam safe. 

 

"Sam. Please, listen to me. I'm Sydney. Sydney Bristow." Her eyes softened and she stopped struggling beneath him, hoping to somehow reach him. "I know Dean. He'll be back... he can explain everything. Please..." 

 

“Oh... sure... you’re Dean’s flavor of the day. Or what? Are we supposed to share you? That’s a new one.”

 

 _"Share me?"_ The daggers that shot from her eyes punctuated the indignation in her voice. 

 

“That would be definite a ‘no,’” Dean’s gruff voice filled the room. He cocked the gun in his hand, even though he wanted nothing to do with it. Walking closer, he asked, “You alright, Syd?”

 

Sam heard Dean’s voice. He refused to turn, but Dean came around, and they were staring at each other. 

 

“Sam?” Seeing a certain look in his brother’s eyes, Dean put the safety on and dropped the gun down. Then he opened his arms wide and started to walk toward Sam.

 

“Dean?” Sam’s gaze flicked down to the half-naked girl under him who suddenly felt very real. He was off her like a shot, and closing his arms around Dean. “Is this real?” he asked.

 

“It’s real,” Dean answered, closing his eyes for a split second. “Okay. Alright. Alright,” he said more gruffly, so Sam would let him go. 

 

He looked at Syd, who was standing up now, and it was clear she was fine. “Introductions would be anti-climactic,” he said, apologizing to her with his eyes.

 

Sydney cocked a half smile as she wrapped the towel around herself looking from Dean to Sam. "Yeah, we've met," she flashed a dimpled grin, as she pushed her wet hair off her face, her chest still heaving from the struggle. "I can definitely see the family resemblance." 

 

She stepped forward and held out her hand, quickly deciding that wasn't enough and instead pushed herself up on her toes and threw her arms around Sam's shoulders to hug him tight. "You put up a hell of a fight, Sam..." she murmured against him, so filled with relief to see Dean's heartache finally come to an end. 

 

At first, Sam stood a little stiffly. But then, he closed his arms around her and hugged her back, giving a small laugh. “I ah... have a feeling you were holding back.”

 

“She was,” Dean chimed in. “And... don’t you two think the ‘hello’ moment is over? Like a good thirty seconds ago. Forty seconds. Forty five..”

 

Sam released her. “Sorry. I thought you were...” He couldn’t say it, so he looked at Dean. “Some ice. For her jaw.”

 

"I'm fine," Sydney assured as her fingers touched her jaw and she winced slightly. The kid did have a mean right hook, she'd give him that. "I'll grab a bag of frozen peas and get dressed..." she stepped back, still grinning ear to ear as she turned to Dean and gave him a quick kiss and pulled him into a hug. "It's over," she whispered against him, her eyes moistening with emotion. Not wanting to take away from their reunion, she pulled back and headed to the kitchen and then the bedroom to dress. 

 

Catching Sam staring at her, Dean smacked him across the chest.

 

Sam had the grace to flush and give a sheepish grin. Then he had questions. “How... what happened?”

 

“Things happened. Came together and... here you are, that’s the important thing. Sam, it’s a long story. Later,” Dean insisted. “How’re you feeling.”

 

“Good. Fine. Dean? How long’s it been?” he asked.

 

“A year. Just about. What... what do you remember?” Dean asked.

 

Sam’s eyes snapped to Dean’s. “Nuthin.”

 

Dean had been here, and he didn’t believe Sam, but he didn’t push. “Alright. But if you wanna talk.”

 

“Thanks.” 

 

“You gotta be hungry. And thirsty.”

 

“Yeah. I could eat a horse,” Sam agreed. “Burger with cheese and even onions and...”

 

“You’re finally getting some good taste in eats.” Dean slapped him on the back. “We’ll go grab some food soon as soon as Syd’s dressed.”

 

“So... Syd. What happened with Lisa?” Sam asked. “You promised...”

 

“I did, and I tried. But...” Dean shook his head. “I wasn’t good for them, Sam. It just... It wasn’t fair to them, alright. I drank, a lot. And I kill things and... Not the kind of life, for them.”

 

“And …” Sam nodded toward Sydney’s bedroom.

 

“Yeah well, she can kick my ass when I drink too much, or drink me under the table, though she hasn’t proven it. You think our lives are scary... wait till you hear about hers.” Dean looked down for a moment, then back up. “She makes me happy, the way I wanted to be happy with Lisa. Happy and, not afraid for her every second, and...”

 

“You’re in love. Dude, you’re in love... and I get it, totally get it,” Sam said when Sydney walked into the room, just as sexy in clothes as out of them. 

 

“Will you stop,” Dean smacked him again.

 

“Stop what? Dude I wasn’t!” Sam hadn’t been staring at her, that was all Dean being Dean. 

 

Sydney grinned at their brotherly banter. Dean had talked so much about Sam, it was like she'd known them both all along. She slipped her arm around Dean's waist and was about to ask where they wanted to go eat when her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and saw it was Vaughn, giving Dean a look she knew he'd recognize as she answered it. 

 

"Hey, what's up?" she asked. Her expression turned serious and she stepped away from the brothers a few paces to listen to what her handler had to say about her next assignment. Michael gave her a quick rundown, explaining that the Orchid and the Mueller Device had both mysteriously disappeared from CIA custody. Her first thought was SD-6, but intel suggested SD-6 didn't take it, but their supernatural division was trying to track it down. Separately the two Rambaldi artifacts had their purposes, but together they had the potential to damage the very fabric of humanity. 

 

Her jaw set in a hard line, the agent turned to see Castiel had dropped in and was talking to Dean and Sam about some guy named Crowley who had just come into possession of something he shouldn't have. When she heard him describe the red sphere, Sydney knew they were talking about the same thing. "You too?" she was already grabbing her weapons. "I've got intel coming in. Looks like we need to get to some tiny town in Mississippi... Beulah?" 

 

Castiel gave a nod, “he is indeed in Beulah. “We should go quickly. Sam. I’m glad you’re not insane. It would be... troubling.”

 

Sam had a strange look on his face, and it wasn’t only because of Castiel’s comment.

 

“Come on bro, we’ll catch you up on everything on the way to Mississippi,” Dean said, slapping Sam on the back, then catching the duffel bag Syd tossed at him. “And just a warning, keep away from anything Syd wears in her hair. Usually means it’s deadly,” he said, giving the clip holding her ponytail a wary look, as she walked past. 

 

Following her out, Dean smacked her ass and grinned. Well he was grinning, until he heard Castiel’s question.

 

“Why did Dean administer corporal punishment on her? Has she been bad?”

THE END


End file.
